


Deflection Toward the Relative Major

by orphan_account



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Awkward Crush, Behind the Scenes, Bonds, Canon Universe, Canonical Character Death, Character Development, Developing Relationship, I mean we all know my boy Kravitz bit that bullet, M/M, Magic, Mortality, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Kravitz, Raven Queen is a great Mom, Relationship Discussions, Sexual Content, but definitely taking some creative discretion, instrumental references, metaphysicality, spans the multi-arcs of canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-02-27 22:06:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13257567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He means to say all of this, but all that comes out is, “Why? Why choose me?” Instead of someone better suited he means; a warrior, a wizard, a priest.-or-Kravitz finding his path through existence, after his mortal life has ended.  And finds the journey is much like life: Strange and unpredictable and terrible and beautiful.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **
> 
> Few notes: I'm usually a pretty sparse, introspective writer, and when this story kept growing I second guessed myself a hundred times. Exterior plot and development is not my forte, so if this is reading as jumbled unintelligible mess...from the bottom of my heart: My Bad. 
> 
> This is meant to be written as a sort of interstitial piece, filling in cracks from Kravitz's perspective, and then it blew up into a bit of a character study that I felt I had to follow through to the end. Lots of creative license being taken here so if the shit sounds pretty far fetched, that's because it is. Here we goooo!
> 
> **

**Do you know why you are here?**

Kravitz blinks. Or tries to. Something feels different when his mind tries to signal his body to move. To react. To breathe. He feels like a billion disparate pieces, unable to pull together. He’s certain he wasn’t always this way, but he can’t remember whatever came before this..

 **Do you know why you’re here, child?** The voice asks again, slower this time, resonating everywhere and nowhere. 

Kravitz wants to shake his head, thinks _no_ , thinks _who are you?_ And there’s something in the back of his mind that he can’t seem to place or parse, but he knows deep down, deep deep down in the pit of his stomach where every truth he learned first bloomed, that something is terribly wrong. 

Something has happened, and his mind is trying to save him from remembering it.

 **In time** the voice tells him, just as Kravitz tries to anxiously examine that nagging sense of loss.

Then there is only the silence. 

The flotsam jetsam of his consciousness radiating outward in an impossibly long stream that has no end. 

And the nothingness. 

And the ambivalence. 

And the unfathomable bits and bits and bits of him.

\---

 

**Do you know why you are here?**

_I never knew my father, my mother was a piano teacher. She taught me how to play as soon as I could reach the keys. I was born under a Harvest moon, I--_ Somehow, without it being said to him, Kravitz knows this is not taking him in the right direction, he forces those familiar and comforting truths aside and moves toward the obfuscation, begins picking at it. The closer he gets, the more he wants to turn back, but it’s not in Kravitz’s nature to keep things hidden from himself. 

Ignorant is far worse a thing to be, than afraid.

\---

 

 _I died_ Kravitz says before the presence can ask why he’s here. A sense of shock and loss and anger arrive with the admission, but he hones it, uses it to ground himself, forces the once meandering bits to stay together. 

He’s still not certain where he is, but presumably an afterlife of some sort. He was not a religious man, and he called upon no gods when he died. All the pain and disappointment and the unanswerable questions from life have followed him here. This isn’t the endless sleep he imagined when he collapsed in the middle of his studies. 

An illness grew quietly inside him before anyone even knew it was there, and by the time it’d shown its face, no Healer could touch it. 

A stiff white bed and a fever that burned deep in his bones. 

His mother, always so distant and quiet, holding his hand like she never had. The hands she’d created and crafted and taught to coax music from tonal dissonance. 

The call of a raven perched in his window, and that’s the last thing he remembers from his life, the delirious pondering of _who let that bird in here?_

A chuckle, it sounds real now, not just a sound projecting in a million directions all at once, but from an actual source.

**I am no simple creature, child.**

From somewhere, Kravitz finds his voice,“Who are you then?”

**Harvester. Shepherd. Mother. Queen. I go by many names.**

Kravitz stretches out his senses, if he’s dead, where is everyone else like him? There’s no shortage of souls passing out of the mortal plane at any given time, so why is he so _alone_? It’s just him in this space, and the ungraspable presence that keeps speaking to him, regarding him with curiosity and a vague sense of benign affection. The latter of which seeming the most bizarre, at the moment.

 **It’s true, it has been thousands of years since I last took a vested interest in watching a soul form. I sometimes forget how _much_ there is to you.** Something stirs Kravitz’s consciousness, like one thousand fingers touching one thousand Kravitz’s all at once. **How do you keep it locked so tightly inside of those tiny, fragile vessels, for even a moment? It must be agony.**

“Yes,” Kravitz admits, softly. “Sometimes.”

**I want to make you an offer. It is the only time I will make this offer. If you refuse, I will allow you the same fate as any soul that passes under my hand; to join with the others in the collective. To find your peace. It will not anger me if you choose this.**

Kravitz takes a moment to consider the words, doesn’t ask until he’s sure he wants to hear the answer. “What is the offer?”

**Serve me.**

Huh. That’s… Well, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. “Pardon? I’m not sure I understand.”

**Serve Me. Be My emissary. Bind your soul to the Veil and wield My scythe. Seek out those who defile the laws of fate and this plane; the necromancers, the Defectors, and bring them to Eternal Stockade. Reform them so they might one day join the others in the pool, as is My will.**

“Do I-- Okay, wait,” Kravitz tries to think, “How would this work? Would I still be me even though, if I am getting this correct, bound to you?”

 **Child** she says, carefully articulating like Kravitz might actually be very, very dense. **Whatever it is that makes a being unique without equal, whatever magic it is that shapes and casts and patterns a soul together, can not be appropriated by any force. To be at peace in the collective, to be dead, is not to stop feeling. This goes on infinitely. It can not be taken or unmade. To fasten your soul to Me, does not mean an end to your existence. Do you understand?**

No. There are too many questions to ask. How? He’s nothing. A wisp of consciousness and that’s all. He can’t even _make_ a fist, much less fight with one. He was not a student of magic in his life, Kravitz knows nothing of necromancers, of wayward souls. He wanted to be a conductor. He only knows music, how to bring it into shape and make it move. He’s wielded a baton, but not a scythe. He is organized and precise, but sometimes to a fault. It makes him slow. 

He means to say all of this, but all that comes out is, “Why? Why choose me?” Instead of someone better suited he means; a warrior, a wizard, a priest. 

**I can not say,** She admits after several moments, **Even I do not always know the will of Fate, and the tapestry She weaves. There is a purpose, though it be beyond my sight. You are--** She pauses and Kravitz can once again feel that same prickle of detached curiosity fall over him, **_\--precious_ to me, somehow. Or perhaps you will be. There is something of you that’s important.**

“Oh,” Kravitz says, and then,admittedly more out of panic than actual logical consideration, “I accept.”

\---


	2. Fifty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The soul is a constantly evolving organism, it is not rendered in the same pattern one moment to the next. They all come back to the world _different_ , their soul incomplete and inhuman because of it. Each part is needed. Life is a one shot deal for a reason. The Order is in place for a reason. It is not meant to be taken and twisted and fractured beyond recognition, the suffering would be too great.

*So Many Years Later*

Chaos like this has happened before, a sudden violent event, and the Gate to the astral plane is flooded with souls. Most of them don’t even know what happened, most of them don’t even know they’re dead. Every soul requires time in processing their new disembodied state, to gather themselves together just as Kravitz did so many, many, years ago. Kravitz has found those that are released from mortality under an abrupt trauma, take the longest to accept their fate, putting them at a much higher risk to become hostile entities. He’ll need to watch them closely.

He counts them slowly and methodically, then does it again, then again, and on the fourth time he comes out with a different number. The count is only off by one, but Kravitz has been doing this a _very_ long time and is not inclined to think the mistake is his own fallibility. It makes him immediately suspicious so he takes a quick note in his ledger and will remember to sleuth it out later. 

The souls aren’t speaking yet, they can’t explain to him what it is that has brought them here without warning and in such great quantity. There is only the vague projection of their last moments of life being whispered over and over. _Fire Fire Fire Fire Fire_

He summons his scythe, closes his eyes and focuses on the rippling scars left behind by such an abrupt exit of souls from the prime material plane. He arcs it through the air in a decisive slash, waits for the harsh colours of physical reality to bleed through the portal. 

Only there is no bright burst of sun and sky, no haze of smoke or fire, none of the familiar shapes of disaster that he expects. Kravitz steps through the portal, looks down and furrows his brow when the sole of his boot clicks against onyx. 

He bends down, takes off his glove and runs his fingers over the slick surface of it.

“Oh dear, well, that’s not right,” he babbles to himself, of course, because this town is _super_ dead. 

Whatever happened here, happened so quickly and so completely, that nothing at all was left behind. The destruction is absolute. 

There’s only Kravitz here now, this disc of black glass extending out several hundred metres, and the sound of wind roaring in his ears. Kravitz can still sense a lingering aura of magic hanging listless in the air, it sends a shiver through his body, pricks at him antagonistically. Kravitz sheds his human aspect to rid himself of the sensation.

Beyond the disc he can see rolling hills, fields of feather grass whipped by the wind, roads that once lead into this village, but no sign of witnesses. Birds aren’t calling out overhead, no clicking beetles or even the faintest signs of life. It’s as if they too can sense the same arcane tenor in the atmosphere, stale and cloying, and out of instinct, stay away.

\---

 

“It was so quick,” the soul whispers, still trying to recall their form, “The explosion.. I’ve never seen anything like it before.” Their vague outline gathers together, and takes on the shape of a human, can’t be older than eighteen. 

Kravitz nods, “Try to focus,” he says gently, “What’s the last thing you saw?”

“I… it was Gundren. I think. But he was _different_. He was burning, I don’t know why. I don’t know why he’d do this to us, I don’t kn-”

“It’s all right,” Kravitz soothes them, commits the name to memory and presses on, “Do you remember anything else? Was anyone with him?”

“Yes, four,” they say immediately, “But I’m sorry, they were strangers to me. There were two men, another dwarf, I think the other was an elf. The man with glasses, he tried to tell us to run. It’s like he knew what was going to happen. He was the first to be burned.”

“And the others?”

“They were trying to talk to Gundren, they kept trying to reason with him.”

“Looks like _that_ went over well,” Kravitz says under his breath while scribbling notes. When the story doesn’t continue he looks up at their hazy face. They fix him with an affronted expression. Kravitz clears his throat. He’s rusty on people skills, accustomed to the harsh silence of the Stockade. “My apologies. That was… insensitive. Considering your current state. Please continue.”

“That’s all,” they say, voice a little more clipped than before. “I saw them speak to Gundren. I saw them run. Then I saw fire. And that was the last thing I ever knew.”

Kravitz stops writing for a moment, “They ran? Could they have escaped? I’m just trying to account for everyone.”

The human shakes their head, says quietly, “There was nowhere to go. No one could have survived that.” Their form flickers, twists like smoke and fades

\---

 

He finds the names through the painstaking interrogation of 1,121 souls. It takes fucking for _ever_ and why are there so many Phandalin orc racists, and how many times does Kravitz have to explain that he isn’t in charge of mortal affairs, and _no_ this stone of far speech can not directly link you to your particular deity you’ll have to channel them like everyone else, and don’t they know that Kravitz has other shit to do? Liches to stockade, and rehabilitation sessions to conduct ? 

He rubs his temples and writes _Merle Highchurch, Magnus Burnsides, Taako, Sildar “Barry J.Bluejeans” Hallwinter_ into his ledger. None of these individuals are among the souls, but each of them were at ground zero, and the human with the unnecessary name was confirmed dead by multiple accounts. At the very least, he should be here.

Something isn’t right.

He leaves his list of names with Phyllis from Records, she looks him over appreciatively for the hundredth time and says the same thing she always says. 

“I can see why you’re Her favorite,” and she winks and slips the loose shred of parchment from his hand, and levitates it two inches from her glasses. “Whaddaya want with these?”

Kravitz furrows his brow and looks over to the door where **RECORDS** is printed over the glass in big block letters. “Um. Just had some loose ends after the Phandalin incident and wanted to check their records, in case.”

“Sure thing hun, give me a few weeks and I’ll send you the dossier.”

Kravitz turns skeletal in an instant, _”Weeks?!_ ” and then, more calmly because Phyllis is looking at him daringly over the top of her specs, “Is there any way I can put a rush on it?”

“That _is_ putting a rush on it, what do you think I’m running? A dentist office? Look, look at this,” she snaps her fingers and Kravitz experiences a wave of inertia, then they’re standing in something too big and too full to be a warehouse. 

It’s lined with massive tomes on shelves, the filing cabinets stretching endlessly top to bottom as far as the eye can see. “Do you know how many souls pass through our Gate? No? Me-fucking-neither sweet cheeks, because it’s too many to count and there’s no shortage of the dead. You can’t begin to comprehend how far these record go back.”

“Yes Phyllis, I’m sorry, I underst--”

 

“And no one appreciates just how hard PHYLLIS works, and no one cares that I, PHYLLIS, have to sort through all these damn M’s and T’s and--what the FUCK is a Barry J. Bluejeans-- just so you can get all the credit when--”

“I know, I know,” Kravitz reaches out to pat her shoulder with his bony fingers, affects his most supplicatory voice. “You’re great Phyllis, that’s what I tell everyone. The Queen knows you work harder than any of us.”

This seems to cool Phyllis a bit and she gives a short nod, “You’re damn right I do.” She looks down at his skeletal hand and grimaces in a way that makes Kravitz feel a little self conscious. 

“And put your meat suit back on, you look like you just got dug up.”

\---

 

Spying on them isn’t nearly as difficult as Kravitz expected, not even close. He’s barely been scrying on the material plane for five minutes, when he intercepts word of some _highly suspect_ locomotive activity. A Rockport train disappears through a portal, missing the metropolis by scant centimetres, sparing Kravitz another round of soul inundation. It’s not like trains plough through portals willy nilly, so by the time Kravitz cuts a path to Rockport, he hears the whispers. The descriptions all match: human, dwarf, elf. 

He pulls up his hood, shields himself. Even the most prying eyes will be inclined ignore him this way, passing him over as one would a shadow on the wall, looking through him like a ghost. The trio is still in the village from what Kravitz gathers. The human, built like fighter, has gone to a clinician for tending which Kravitz finds only slightly baffling because it seems they have a healer among them. 

The dwarf has a holy symbol clutched to his chest and the meagre components of a cleric, so why is this man sitting through unmedicated stitches? Perhaps this is the sort of human who prefers to carry his scars. The cleric sleeps in a chair, snoring loudly, while the man who must be Magnus sits quietly and fidgets with a hole in his trousers, only betraying any sign of pain with an occasional twinge. 

It’s a bit more trouble finding the elf, he seems to be keeping to the edges, and Kravitz figures it’s due to an incidental poisoning in Glamorsprings and his subsequent fugitive status. These are mortal affairs however, and the information has no bearing on Kravitz’s investigation. Kravitz finds him in a tavern, watches as a small boy peaks out from behind the elf. He can’t see the elf’s face, the brim of his hat is pulled low like he’s trying to keep from being recognized.

“Look, he isn’t my kid. This is a train kid. I found him on a train.”

“Sir, I’m from--”

“Could you just get us a couple drinks and your greasiest fuckin’ _fries_ while you call his parents?”

The man writes in a moleskin, “So that’s two ales and--”

“Chhheeessuus, Tom Bodett, he’s like six years old!”

“I’m ten, sir.”

“You can’t give him _ale_ , don’t you have a juice box or something? Ya’ll serving minors in here? C’mon, don’t be tacky.”

The man huffs and turns toward the galley.

“Where are you parents anyway, Ango?” He crooks a finger at the child and points to an empty table near to where Kravitz is cloaked.

The boy says simply, “I don’t remember,” and follows him to the table. Kravitz starts to move a little closer for better observation, but freezes when the child fights off a shiver and turns in Kravitz’s general direction. A small hand reaches blindly and tugs on the billow of the elf’s sleeve.

“Sir,” he whispers, eyes still pulling toward the negative space around Kravitz. The elf ignores the tugging and slings his satchel down onto an empty seat. “Taako,” the boy pulls more urgently and points.

The elf gets out a frustrated, “ _What-_ ” but quiets immediately and follows the boy’s pointing finger. His ears twitch, then narrow backward.

He looks directly at Kravitz, completely pushing past what should have been a compulsion to avert his line of sight. For a moment: Panic. Kravitz holds stock still, finds himself locked into that intense green gaze, and there’s no _way_ he can see Kravitz like this, shrouded as he is. It’s deeply unnerving.

“Something’s there,” the child whispers. “It doesn’t want us to see it.”

“I know,” Taako tilts his head, silver hair falling across his face, and Kravitz watches as the elf moves defensively in front of the child, long fingers reach for the staff of an umbrella, and he’s whispering something vague under his breath. Kravitz can feel the charge of magic energy build in the space between them, watches as the charge arcs up Taako’s arm and takes hold in his eyes-- 

Kravitz disperses, sends his essence in a dozen different directions until he finds a place to regather safely.

All right, he thinks, he’ll need to be a bit more careful. 

 

\---

 

When Kravitz isn’t hunting and capturing bounties, or checking in with Phyllis for the hundredth time, or playing Baccarat with his ancient and inscrutable Mother-Goddess, he’s observing this triumvirate of adventurers. 

The wizard is a transmutor, the cleric worships a Life-Giver, and the human isn’t even _magical_. They make him uncomfortable, somehow, though none of them appear to have any of the calling cards of your typical violator. Except for Bluejeans, who turned out to be a lich and Kravitz was told in no uncertain terms by a co-worker that if he began hunting _their_ bounty, to expect a banishment when Kravitz least expects it to the chaotic disorganization of Limbo. Truly a fate worse than death for anyone Kravitz’s particular mix of personality traits. He reluctantly steps away from that one.

Magnus is clearly the protector of the group, shielding his friends with his body and stepping too directly in the path of danger. He obviously values the other’s safety very much, but demonstrates far less concern when it comes to his own life. Kind eyes, but also sad with all the signs of someone who has lived through trauma and grown in spite of it. Finding his history was easy enough, a hero of the common people and one of the sole survivors of the Raven’s Roost massacre in which he lost his wife.

The cleric Merle is by far the easiest to read; unsubtle with his speech, eccentric, but also a bit insecure it seems. The dwarf’s nature, however, is resilient, optimistic and relaxed in a way Kravitz remembers finding enviable when he was alive.

Taako is much more difficult to parse, at once silly and ostentatious, but totally closed off behind the eyes. He seems always either frustrated or indifferent, only betraying any sort of shift in emotion with a quick catch of breath as he watches one of the members of his party take a hit, before unleashing some scathing spell. Kravitz gets the impression that the elf prefers to be underestimated, taken as foolish, but he wields his magic with the quick precision of far cleverer wizard. He’s perceptive, too wily and unpredictable.

Kravitz stays the farthest from him. 

\---

 

**Perhaps you watch too closely.**

“It’s my job to watch closely.” Kravitz drums his fingers against his thigh, asks, “Do you have a four?”

A grumbling sound fills the room and a raven flies over to deliver a card with the number four painted in the corner, drops it from its beak and flies back into the shadows. 

**If your intuition is to be trusted, it could be dangerous fixating ahead of the facts.** Kravitz shrugs. **The elf is beautiful though, I can understand the interest. Do you have a king?**

“I--he-” Kravitz sputters, “My _interest_ is strictly professional,” he says firmly, sliding his card across the table. “And quit cheating, I can feel you,” Kravitz turns in his seat and stares down the slowly creeping outline of a shadow over his shoulder. It freezes, then retreats hastily back around the table to join with its source.

**You’ve been my ward for many lifetimes, I know you well.**

“Yes,” Kravitz agrees absently. He organizes his matches in a tidy row. A cold breeze whispers across his cheek, gently pushes a fallen loc from his eyes and twists it back into place behind his head. Kravitz looks up into the Veil.

**Guard yourself there, child. The living can not be trusted.**

\---

“You might wanna sit down for this one,” Phyllis tells him as Kravitz finds his shape after riding out a rough summoning spell. 

“You could have called over my stone,” Kravitz complains, “left a note at the Stockade, sent a raven,” he shakes his head to clear out the last bit of disorientation left behind from the abrupt wrench from one plane into another.

“No, nonono _no_ pretty boy, couldn’t run the risk of third party interception, never know who’s listening. You’ve found yourself a doozy.” A cigarette appears in her mouth and she takes a long drag, blows smoke from her nostrils like a very decrepit dragon. “You wouldn’t believe the shit I had to go through to find the skinny on these boys. The favors I had to call in. You owe me.”

Kravitz takes the envelope from her and begins flipping through the first binding of parchment. Kravitz looks at Taako’s file first because it’s the shortest. Typically, death records are simple and direct in detailing method of demise, date of crossing over into the astral plane, and if the soul has committed any offenses to the natural order both in life and afterlife. It’s a calculated analysis of a soul’s potential malevolence risk. This record has none of these particulars, only showing that Taako has, definitely, met his mortal death eight times. 

“Phyllis..”

“I know what you’re about to ask and I’m sorry, but I got nothing else for you. I’m serious. I communed with some pretty serious shit, I’m not even sure what _plane_ I tapped into.” Kravitz furrows his brow and flips to Magnus’ file, reads **Death Count: 11** and looks at Phyllis again. She laughs ruefully and points, cigarette in hand, to the final spreadsheet. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

And then he does see it. 

“FIFTY SEVEN?” his corporeal form flickers rapidly-human to skeletal to soul essence- a wild glowing mismatch of all three, “How is that even possib-- What was he even doing?!”

 _Fuck_ Fifty seven? If Kravitz knows anything about the perversion of the natural order, it’s that one can not die and come back into life as same person. A soul is splintered after it dies and it takes time, exhaustive effort, to bring itself back together. Kravitz knows this intimately from his own death. It is impossible to die so many times, to reassemble yourself so many times, and not leave bits behind. The soul is a constantly evolving organism, it is not rendered in the same pattern one moment to the next. They all come back to the world _different_ , their soul incomplete and inhuman because of it. Each part is needed. Life is a one shot deal for a reason. The Order is in place for a reason. It is not meant to be taken and twisted and fractured beyond recognition, the suffering would be too great.

All three of these men should be violently insane. 

Except they aren’t, and that shouldn’t be possible, but that’s not the priority right now He has a job to do. Kravitz takes a deep steadying breath and submits the file to his ledger. 

 

\---

“Can you recall if your husband had any dealings with dark entities? Was he commonly possessed by a demon of unknown origins?”

The woman across from Kravitz narrows her eyes. “Why are you asking me about Magnus.”

Kravitz doesn’t miss the edge of warning in her tone, knows this is an unwelcome line of questioning. “I’m not at liberty to discuss that at this time, Mrs. Burnsides. If you could please answer. Did he submit a blood sacrifice to any necromantic cults, to your knowledge?”

Julia Burnsides leans back into her chair, arms folded across her chest and her face defiant. 

Kravitz sighs. “You wouldn’t tell me even if you did know, would you.” 

She smiles, a close lipped thing that doesn’t reach her eyes and it tells Kravitz that this soul is still very much bonded to her counterpart. Protective. Most souls release their final ties to the mortal world, finding the separation painful or even burdensome in the process of moving on. Clearly, this is not yet the case for this one, and it’d be cruel to risk whatever tenuous peace she has found.

“Right, okay,” Kravitz frowns and slumps a bit in his seat. He abandons professionalism for a moment and says plainly, “Did he ever die? Does he ever just.. Sometimes… die? Has he visited you here?”

She looks puzzled, a quick flash of anxious concern. “Is he okay? Did something happen? I mean, I would have felt it if he’d…” she looks down at her hands like she might have missed something there, then at Kravitz. “Look, I don’t know what you think he’s done, but Magnus is a good man. He’s gentle and kind, and sure, a little bit of a doofus sometimes, but if he’s broken any of your laws.. It had to have been for a good reason.”

“And if there’s not a good reason?”

Her eyes flash with conviction and Julia shakes her head. “Then he didn’t have a choice.”

\--- 

He’s called to investigate an emergent leak from the Stockade before he can decide on a method in which to obtain his newest bounties. It takes planning, these things, if these men have escaped the plane so frequently, it’s clear they have some powerful magic on their side allowing this to continue. Kravitz would rather not be blindsided by it. 

Other reapers who have been employed longer than Kravitz, have grown somewhat detached from their understanding of the mortal coil. Nothing comes between them and their prey, and as a result they lack foresight. Kravitz loathes collateral damage, would rather lure and set traps, than collect a bounty in a test of power. It makes him slow, that’s true, but Kravitz’s record is flawless.

He hadn’t been the one to submit Maureen Miller to the Eternal Stockade, he isn’t her rehabilitation counselor, so Kravitz feel immediately uneasy when the Queen assigns him the retrieval. 

“I’m not questioning you,” Kravitz says, still apprehensive as he reviews her profile, “But she isn’t one of mine. I feel like I’m not best suited to recover this soul.”

 **Perhaps not.**

Well, fantastic, that was easy. Usually it takes a bit more convincing to get his way. Kravitz nods in agreement, allows his glasses to disappear from off his face and tries handing the file back to the Raven perched on his shoulder. It doesn’t take it, instead flying back into the shadows . 

**I feel you must follow this path. I do not know where it will lead, only that the way is meant for you.**

“What path?” Kravitz groans, scrubs the heels of his palms over his eyes, “Must you always be so cryptic?”

In lieu of answering, another Raven flies over, butts its head gently against Kravitz’s cheek, caws, almost like an apology. Kravitz sighs and runs his hand over the gloss of black feathers on the Raven’s back before it leaves his shoulder, vanishing back into the Veil.

\---

The mission goes _so_ awry, so far above and the beyond Kravitz’s pay grade that, frankly, it’s impressive. Kravitz would laugh, only he _can’t_ because he’s too busy trying to maintain an elemental suit made of this virulent crystal, hunting a necromancer and his defected mother, the missing soul from the Phandalin incident, and _and!_ being completely blindsided by a certain trio of repeat offenders who definitely were _not_ supposed to be here and seem hell-bent on making Kravitz’s job as difficult as possible!

He wonders what it is these men have seen, that a floating lab containing infectious tourmaline and (for all they know) a giant crystal gollum repeatedly attacking them, inspires little to no sense of fear or intimidation. Kravitz manages to get an arm off Merle: Affront to The Natural Order. One of him, is worth more than all the rest. 

It’s that much more annoying when the dwarf fails to bleed out from his wound.

He materializes momentarily in the ethereal plane to re-gather his form and wits after nearly being disassembled by one of the wizard’s spells. Kravitz has been on the receiving end of his fair share of outre spells, but dozens of black tentacles materializing from the ground to--

And was he being _flirted_ with? Not the bit where the wizard wrecked Kravitz’s whole situation, obviously, but the part at the end? The stroking of where Kravitz’s left buttocks would be if there hadn’t been, you know, crystal there. It doesn’t matter, of course, because Kravitz is going to absolutely going to throw these strange men in the Stockade first chance he gets, but _was_ it flirting?

 

Neither Magnus, nor Taako, nor Merle seem to have any idea what Kravitz is talking about when he finally confronts them with their death tallies. It’s even more infuriating that Kravitz thinks they might even be telling the _truth _, because their eyes go all big and confused and it’s not an act. People bargain and lie constantly to avoid consequences for their actions, but these three genuinely can’t seem to recall their own _demise_. __

__It’s at once annoying, and unnerving, and sad. Birth and death are the bookends of a soul’s design, a chasm of formative consciousness in between those sacred places._ _

__If they can’t recall the memories of their own exits from life, it brings to question: What else has been taken from them?_ _

__\---_ _

__

__It’s Kravitz’s worst nightmare, complete chaos. He sensed it the first moment he entered Lucas Miller’s lab, a doorway to the astral plane, Kravitz had recognized its frequency; a quiet hum in his chest and the reflexive draw toward home._ _

__It isn’t an uncommon practice among necromancers to force doorways between the living and the dead, but there was no predicting the extent to which he tapped into that well. Surely no one would be stupid enough to leave open the door to the Eternal Stockade. Those souls are imprisoned there for the safety of both living and dead alike, to release them would mean creating an imbalance between the planes, untold damage, an uncontrollable degradation of the laws governing existence._ _

__But one thing the living consistently prove, is that there are always idiots in the world. Idiots who think they are smarter and better than the delicate, precarious balance that holds them together at the seams._ _

__Kravitz takes a beating so hard that he’s _sure_ he’s been unmade, somehow. He’s thankful that he wasn’t in his flesh form, drawn together by the sense memory of his mortal body. As it is, Legion’s fist smashes him to dust and casts him backward through the sapphire mirror into the Stockade. He re-gathers slowly, cut off from sight and sound, until finally the pieces come together. _ _

__This is it, he thinks, this is the end for us all, living and dead. He sticks his hand in his pocket, grasps a handful of raven’s feathers, his mouth already forming the words to commune with his goddess and warn her._ _

__He gazes once more through the mirror and watches slack jawed as the group works frantically to banish Legion back to the Stockade. For a moment the image disappears, then in a violent blast, souls begin pouring back through the rift. All Kravitz can do is kneel down in the middle of it, hands wrapped firmly around the staff of his scythe as Legion’s mass exodus cuts past him like water around rock._ _

__Kravitz winces as thousands of screams fill his ears, horrible and brutal and so so angry. But then, there is silence. The familiar, peaceful quiet as each individual soul is pulled magnetically into the inner chamber of the Stockade, back into place._ _

__Kravitz pulls himself to his feet and picks up a shard of the sapphire mirror. He gazes in confusion as an image of Taako glitches violently, the lines of him hazy and indistinct before he flickers out._ _

__Kravitz stretches a hand toward the Gate, channels the protection spell that will keep the Stockade locked shut, and passes back into the material plane to make a deal._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> Next update is gonna be when the E rating drops, so uh...ya'll strap in and strap on. I'd expect said update very soon. Posting when I have enough time to actually sit down and look at it, edit anything, and tell god I'm sorry.
> 
> **


	3. Liminal Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--
> 
> “Who knows, Ghost Rider, maybe you’ll get to keep me this time.”
> 
> Kravitz opens his mouth to tell Taako he does not wish for this at all. 
> 
> \--

\---

**You are soft, child.**

Kravitz looks away from the flux of shadows, embarrassed. “I try not to be,” he murmurs and slides his back down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor of his quarters. He drags his hands tiredly over his face before letting his forearms rest limp over steepled knees.

A raven flies over to his shoulder, nestles a glossy, plucked feather into Kravitz’s hair tie. 

**Do not become undone by it,** the shadows whisper, **Tenderness can cut sharper than a blade between your ribs. Hold it close.**

\---

 

Kravitz doesn’t investigate the three adventurers any further, he’s cut them a deal and it is done. It doesn’t, unfortunately, do anything to stop Kravitz’s curiosity. How have they died so often and without recourse? 

Merle is somewhat bumbling and slow in combat, so even though fifty-seven deaths is a _mind-blowing_ number, Kravitz can see how that theoretically might happen. 

Magnus is brave but somewhat lacking in self-preservational inclination, he’s the sacrificial sort so a high death count also makes sense. 

It’s Taako that truly confuses Kravitz. His survival instinct is downright formidable, yet he has died eight times and continues to put himself in the path of danger. 

 

Kravitz tries to stuff it down, shut it off like he can most other sensation, but there’s a conditioned desire to understand what it is he’s seeing.

He tells himself he’s checking to ensure the terms of their deal are still being met, that it’s professional interest, but his observation is too specific. He doesn’t keep this sort of surveillance on the others.

Kravitz curses himself as he cuts a path to Taako, observes from afar. He only does this when Taako is in public spaces, nothing untoward or disturbing, irregularly, and he never approaches the elf. It’s often the same: Taako in the fields below the strange moon with the Rockport child, tutoring him and laughing good-naturedly at the occasional spectacular magical failures. Taako in the the street markets, seeking out components not easily found in larger retail outlets. He holds a phial of opal dust up to the sky, twists it between long fingers, sunlight refracting through the glass and illuminating his face in prisms of colour.

He is recognised sometimes by fans, and the attention turns him flamboyant as he makes a show of signing whatever it is they hand him. The public front falls away as soon as he’s alone, and Kravitz gets the sense he’s watching two different people entirely. There’s a haunted look, just there, behind his eyes and in the set of his mouth. He’ll look into the fire while having a drink with the others, and a crease will appear between his brow like he’s trying very hard to remember something. 

Kravitz watches Taako, and Taako watches the flame lick at the gleaming logs, hungry and intent.

\---

 

“Why are you following me?”

Kravitz jerks in surprise, the book he’d been reading drops with a loud _phwump_ to the tavern floor. 

“I..” he starts, looks down at himself and his commonwear disguise, the plain worker’s coat and trousers, the dark wrap hiding his locs. 

“You should’ve done your usual shadowy figure, heebie jeebies on the back of my neck routine,” Taako drawls, “if you didn’t want to have an awkward conversation. It’s this,” he swirls his finger in front of Kravitz’s face, “Those specs aren’t hiding that money-maker, my man. Too pretty.” 

Fingers reach, lightening quick, and Kravitz flinches slightly when his specs are lifted right off his face. Taako tosses his long braid over his shoulder and slides them into place. “See?” he sits in the seat across from Kravitz, leans back and tilts his face just so, “Still a babe. Now, d’ya wanna explain why you’re trailing me?”

Kravitz flounders a second longer, “Curiosity,” he admits when a better excuse doesn’t present itself. It’s a very simplified truth.

“Hm,” Taako narrows his eyes, “not good enough. You have plans for my soul that I don’t know about? Do I need to get my affairs in order? Leave my toaster to next of kin?”

“We made a deal,” Kravitz says, offended, “I am bound to it.”

“People lie.” Taako shrugs derisively, “I lie all the time.”

“I don’t,” Kravitz says, and then, because it’s what he’s thinking, “You shouldn’t be possible.”

Taako regards him a moment longer before his posture softens, he drums his fingertips against the handle of his umbrastaff. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“None of you should be possible,” Kravitz amends, watches Taako’s finger trace the grain of wood.

“I thought you liked my buddy Merle the best. Why aren’t you out following him?

Kravitz raises his brow, keeps his voice nonchalant, “How do you know I’m not?”

A smirk creeps into the edge of Taako’s mouth, beautiful but vaguely dangerous. “Careful,” he says lowly, “you might make a guy jealous.”

“That’s certainly not the objective,” and god, Kravitz finds himself leaning into the conversation, meeting Taako’s hushed tone. He shouldn’t be doing this, what’s wrong with him.

“What is the objective, then?”

Kravitz doesn’t answer because he really doesn’t know, but his reticence seems to be answer enough and this time there’s the barest edge of white teeth in Taako’s grin. 

“Listen,” he says, and leans in closer, rising out of the seat a little with palms sliding flatly across the table into Kravitz’s space. “Under any other circumstances I’d dig the attention, like _really_. But I’d kill for them, you know, to keep them safe. They’re all I have, so keep your big weird book and your choppin’ stick _away_.” Taako blinks, frowns and sits ramrod straight in his seat, appearing to be surprised by his own outburst. He points at Kravitz, “If you tell literally anyone I said that, I’ll find a way to unmake that handsome mug, got it bucko?”

Kravitz studies his face, watches his expression flit between four separate emotions before becoming unreadable. 

“Are you threatening me?” Kravitz says slowly.

That sly smile creeps back across Taako’s lips again, “Oh yeah,” he murmurs, never breaking eye contact, and Kravitz feels an old but familiar warmth curl into his gut at the sound of it.

They both jump when Taako’s stone of farspeech illuminates and begins transmitting. 

_“Taako, the Rites are about to start. I think they like..want us to talk? So…_

Taako rolls his eyes and holds the stone close to his mouth. “Yeah yeah yeah for _sure_ , I’ll be there in a minute.” He gives Kravitz one last appraising look, like he isn’t sure if it’s wise to turn his back to him, then rises from his seat. “Duty calls, darling. I’ll try not to see you around.”

“Likewise,” Kravitz replies, wonders awkwardly if he should stand or shake Taako’s hand to end the conversation politely. Taako seems to have no such concern because he leaves as rudely as possible, Blinking away without as much a wave.

\---

 

It’s Kravitz’s shift as Gate shepherd, a quiet task that rarely requires more than a watchful eye to ensure souls don’t divert or become lost at the threshold to the Astral Plane. Inherently, those exiting from mortality are drawn home to the Collective, but as in everything, there are always exceptions to the standard. Kravitz finds the not-quite-solitude of the Gate peaceful, which can not often be said of the anticipatory nature of most liminal spaces. Kravitz folds his hands in his lap and leans back into his conjured seat, gaze cast to the familiar flow of soul tissue rushing overhead in an endless, nebulous stream.

His thoughts drift, become indistinct. It is hypnotic after a while, almost meditative, watching the pattern. The occasional flashes of light amongst the striation is normal, the static white noise that can only be compared to rushing water is expected. 

What Kravitz _doesn’t_ anticipate is the sudden pressure pop in his ears indicating a rip in the stream, the meteoric fall of something to the ground. Kravitz is on his feet in a second, defensively postured and scythe in hand as he watches the soul pull itself together into form with surprising speed. 

“T--Taako?” Kravitz blinks several times.

Taako pulls himself to standing, looks around in confusion before that sharp gaze falls on Kravitz. Behind him, the mouth of the Ethereal plane contorts violently. 

“Not you,” Kravitz says, “It’s too soon.” His voice edges on panic, and Kravitz can’t understand why.

Taako opens his mouth to say something, then doubles over, and in a flash of otherworldly radiance, he’s gone.

\---

 

The placid mood from earlier has left, replaced with the jitters of paranoia as Kravitz inspects the mouth of the Ethereal plane and the passage of souls from it. He paces a tight loop, running scenarios in his head as to what comes next, if the bond of the deal is broken, and where is Taako now. One doesn’t make it between the ethereal and astral plane without dying 

Then, there it is again, the same sonic burst, and Kravitz watches open-mouthed as a soul plummets to his feet. Taako draws himself back together, amorphous webbing snapping into shape _impossibly_ fast. 

Taako clears his throat. “Nice place,” he looks around at the nothingness of the planar gap, “Very minimalist. I like that.” He laughs nervously. “I guess you’re wondering why I’m here. Again.”

“Not really,” Kravitz steels himself, can’t allow his feelings in this matter any quarter. “If you’re here, you’re dead.”

“Yeeeaahhh,” Taako chews on his bottom lip, “Thought you might say that. I mean, you got me there, that did happen. Y’know, it’s actually complicated.”

“I can’t let you go again, I’m sorry,” Kravitz says and means it, then extends his palm toward Taako, “I promise this won’t hurt.” 

He pauses right before he centers his hand on Taako’s chest. Taako meets Kravitz’s eyes, sighs and nods, almost without feeling. Almost like his mortal life meant so little and this is how he expected it to end all along. Early. Kravitz purses his mouth and gently sets his palm against Taako’s collar.

He feels it immediately, the uncomfortable charge of something terrible and arcane connecting Taako to whatever it is wielding the frequency to reverse his passage through the Gate. Kravitz is flung backward as soon as it becomes aware of his attempt to connect to the source and sever its bond to Taako’s soul. He somersaults backward several feet into the air, and lands on his ass.

“Oh shit! You okay, Skelli?” Taako runs over and crouches next to him, a note of genuine concern in his voice. 

Kravitz looks up from his sprawl on the floor, holds up his hands in what he hopes is still the universal gesture of _what the fuck_. 

Taako laughs at that, a sweet musical sound that makes Kravitz smile despite the embarrassment of his ungraceful landing. The rift in the Ethereal plane appears, and Kravitz stops grinning, looks over Taako’s shoulder and eyes it warily.

Taako senses it too, his ears twitching backward, even though his gaze is still on Kravitz. He winces as some invisible authority hooks into him again, “Better luck next time,” Taako grits out, and disappears.

\---

 

It takes five deaths before Taako shows any sign of duress. “BUGS!” he shouts at Kravitz, “What the FUCK, I just got ate by BUGS!”

Kravitz grimaces, “Oh… ew.”

“Shyeah, Terminix! You think?”

“What?” Kravitz asks quietly, mostly to himself.

“I DON’T KNOW!” Taako yells, accusatory, a repulsed shiver running through his body as he swipes frenetically at himself and pulls a grimace. He’s still screaming about it even as he’s ripped away.

\---

 

By the ninth time he appears, Taako looks exhausted. Gone is his usual detached swagger. He’s on his knees, hands flat on the ground, his expression tight. Kravitz crouches next to him, nearly sets a hand to Taako’s shoulder, but thinks better of it. Whatever it is conjuring him back into life, isn’t as quick as it was nine cycles ago. Taako blinks arrhythmically.

“Something about this.. The dying.. It’s easy. I know _how_ to do it.” He shakes his head. “Like some fucking muscle memory. I can’t--” he turns to Kravitz, “back in that lab, you said I’d died eight times. You said that.”

“Yes,” Kravitz confirms, wanting to help him but has no idea how.

“What’s _wrong_ with me?” Taako’s voice is gone thin and breaks in the middle.

“I don’t know,” Kravitz whispers, “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

\---

 

Taako materializes in the blank space of the Gate. He doesn’t attempt to stand at all, just sits down right there and closes his eyes. Kravitz doesn’t say anything either, it’s not the first time they’ve spent one of these reprieves in silence. His gaze keeps wandering from the soul stream, finding its way back to Taako. 

Taako’s eyes open and he gestures toward Kravitz then pats the space next to himself on the floor. Kravitz looks around nervously.

“C’mon,” he says tiredly, “I just got burned up and crushed under a church. If you’re gonna keep meeting me here, least you could do is sit down.”

Kravitz hesitates. He sits down, knees bent, hands flat on the ground. Taako sighs, leans his head to rest on Kravitz’s shoulder and yawns. “Who knows, Ghost Rider, maybe you’ll get to keep me this time.”

Kravitz opens his mouth to tell Taako he does not wish for this at all. His jaw clicks shut when Taako snuffles down against Kravitz’s upper arm and makes a soft, contented noise. It’s such a small sound, but it makes some tenuous chord in Kravitz’s chest thrum. 

Slowly, Kravitz lets his arm drape around Taako, his palm fitting to the contour of Taako’s right shoulder. He holds Taako to himself, holds him knowing he’ll be ripped away from under Kravitz’s hands any moment. 

It has very, very little to do with the ledger disparity Taako is creating by being here, and whether or not Kravitz should be trying harder to usher him past the Gate. The hand touching Taako is protective, possessory without right.

Kravitz fights the urge to bare his teeth when the power source punches its way through the plane to retrieve Taako. He flinches, and Kravitz’s grip tightens.

 

\---

 

Taako’s statement must be explained to Kravitz in eleven different ways, because it’s eleven different stories all leading back to one catalyst and the culminating event. Some of this is familiar, a relic with untenable power capable of laying waste to scores of creatures, but the thrall of this particular artifact had been isolated to a singular city, undetected for quite some time.

 

Taako and his party had not so much escaped death, as had their path reversed through time, preventing them from completing the journey. It makes Kravitz’s head twist to try and conceptualize the linear way through this situation. It calls into question whether or not the many deaths of Taako, Merle, Magnus, and the _entire_ town of Refuge even count when the laws of time itself have been tampered with so egregiously. 

Did these deaths technically never happen, even though they definitely happened, because the timelines in which they occurred were reset? 

Time is the constant by which the natural order is measured and defended, a scale that must be obeyed for the balance at each end to be kept. This is, perhaps, not even a conversation that should be between Taako and Kravitz as intermediary, but a direct negotiation between Lady Istus and the Queen. 

Taako snaps his fingers, “Hey, you still following?”

“No,” Kravitz blinks and clears his thoughts, “I mean yes, it’s just very, as you put it, _complicated._.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” Taako picks at a fray in his leggings, tugs his skirt down over the ladder it created and says quietly, “You could just let this one slide.”

Kravitz shakes his head, sits next to Taako on the sofa and rubs the heels of his wrists against his eyes as he tries to think his way around this.

“Something of this magnitude, it isn’t up to me, Taako. And it wasn’t just one, it was eleven, and perhaps hundreds more for the townspeople that we can’t even begin to account for.” Kravitz pauses, then turns toward Taako, “Are you.. Okay? It seemed like something was bothering you earlier.”

Taako’s ears twitch, flatten against head and level down like he’s suspicious of the question itself. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m still alive,” he thinks and adds a bit spitefully, “for now.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Kravitz explains gently, “one death can be traumatic, much less nineteen. I’ve been doing this a long time, if you need to talk--”

“I don’t do that,” Taako says, definitive.

“Do what?” Kravitz furrows his brow, “ _Talk?_ ”

“And I don’t even remember eight of those deaths, so they don’t count. This isn’t a therapy sesh, my _man_.”

“I’m only saying--”

“What makes you think I’m not okay?” He folds his arms across his chest and glares at Kravitz. “I had a hard day, sure, so sue me! My line of work is buck wild. Get your ass chased by a giant purple worm through a dozen timelines, or have a bank fall on your head, or get blown up by your idiot pals a few times and see if you’re feeling chill by the end of it. I’m _fine_ , all right? Like, thanks for hanging out with me between gigs, but cha’ boy is _solid_.”

 

Kravitz stares at him silently. “You don’t let anyone too close, do you.”

 

Taako’s eyes flash furious for a moment, and then he gets that same perplexed look, like he’s desperately trying to recall some bit of information and for the millionth time it’s evaded him. 

“No,” he says, going dead behind the eyes as he looks away, and Kravitz hates it.

Kravitz thinks about moving toward him, wants to be next to him, to offer something _anything_ that will wipe that flat look off Taako’s face. He shouldn’t care so much, he shouldn’t, but every time he tries to stop the more inextricable the feeling becomes.

“Taako--” Kravitz starts, only to be cut off as the sensation of being summoned settles distinct and familiar inside his chest, the magnetic pull toward his home. “I have to go. Here,” he stands and levitates Taako’s stone of farspeech from over his head, touches it to his own and floats it back.

Taako plucks it from the air, and slips it back around his neck as Kravitz prepares a rift and begins stepping through. 

“So how does this work, Bones? Do we get warning if the bounty is re-opened, or you just gonna appear all hooded figure at my bedside at ass-o’clock when I’m trying to restore spell slots, and go to town? Because if that’s the case, you should know I meditate au naturel.”

Kravitz chokes, trips and falls through the rift.

\---

**You are preoccupied.**

Kravitz sighs, “Yes,” he admits, because what good is denying it. She can sense his thoughts as Her own, when needed. He traces the mouth of his inexpertly constructed vase, can still feel the searing warmth of Taako’s hand over his.

He knows the weight of Her consideration, the familiar gauging silence. **You show him mercy because you care for him,** She says, **And I have spared him, because it is what you wish. We are both guilty of the same offense, is it really so surprising that under the right conditions, we are all subject to the same afflictions?** When Kravitz doesn’t answer She adds, **But it is a terrible thing, you know.**

“What is?”

**Love. It is a lesson we all learn in time. Grief, love, they are one and the same; a seed and its roots, growing up from the same place, alongside one another, always one reaping the other. .**

Kravitz thinks about this and shakes his head, “I hardly know him.”

**It does not always matter what our mind knows, the truth has a way of rushing ahead without us.**

“He’s carrying something heavy inside him, something dangerous.”

 **My child,** she says, a cold breath of air brushes Kravitz’s cheek, **you focus too much on questions, bending entropy into order. Some things, perhaps, we accept as beyond our explanation.**

Kravitz doesn’t know what to say about it. _“I’m afraid no one else will have me.”_ Taako’s words stick in his mind, fester there, and god, what a terrible way to feel about yourself. How could he imagine that it’s even true? It’s certainly not true of Kravitz, drawn helplessly into Taako’s path, wanting far more than what is being offered.

Kravitz sets the lopsided pottery he’d made a mere hour ago aside, resolute. “I have to go.”

She doesn’t answer in words, but Kravitz feels the wash of amusement directed toward him as he reaches for his scythe.

\--

 

It isn’t until all of Taako’s pots have fallen out of their levitation orbit around the sink and clatter to the floor that Kravitz thinks _shit_ he’s done this in the wrong order. He should have called first. Not just shown up, weapon in hand, in the middle of Taako’s dormitory with no warning. 

Taako stumbles backward against the bar, one hand over his heart, the other palm upturned and cradling a growing ball of jagged ice.

Taako severs the spell, the light of it abruptly leaving his eyes. “Holy shit! Holy _shit_ my guy, you scared the bejeezus outta me! I almost blasted your whole face off. What are you doing here?” 

“I uh,” Kravitz starts, shakes his head at the mess on the floor, barely resisting the urge to clean it up. “Forgot something,” he finishes lamely. 

Before Kravitz can think better of it he leans toward Taako, registers the soft uptick in Taako’s breath as he touches their mouths together.

It only lasts the space of a heartbeat, just a wisp of warmth stolen from from Taako’s lips, before Kravitz pulls back. Taako’s eyes are wide, bright green and beautiful and a little lost, and Kravitz wants to give him a good explanation for this. 

Instead he says quietly, “I’m lonely too, sometimes.” 

Taako blinks, “Do you wanna..” he looks at Kravitz mouth, then back up to his eyes, “..talk? About it?”

“Maybe?” Kravitz answers, a less familiar sort of anxiety crawling up the back of his throat, into his fingertips, urging him to reach out.

“Okay,” Taako bites his bottom lip. “Actually, can I just-”

He isn’t sure who starts it, who reaches for the other first. Kravitz, definitely, because his hands are tangled in Taako’s hair within a second, but maybe it was Taako who closed the distance in the first place. It doesn’t matter.

Taako shivers at the first touch of their tongues together. Kravitz remembers his mouth must be cold and feels self-conscious. But Taako presses that much harder into the kiss, gets a hand between them and pulls at Kravitz’s trouser loops until he is wedged tightly against the bench under Kravitz’s weight. He begins pushing Kravitz’s cloak and suit jacket away, they fall to the floor with a whisper. Kravitz nudges them aside with a toe, splays his hands against Taako’s shoulder blades and runs them down the small of his back. 

Taako strains up on his tiptoes, circles his arms around Kravitz’s shoulders, whispers, “Shit,” when the height difference causes a kiss to skitter across the corner of Kravitz’s mouth.

“Is this okay?” Kravitz asks as he hikes Taako’s hips up onto the bench to get their faces even. “It’s been forever, I’m not--” Kravitz groans in frustration, and presses his nose to Taako’s neck, inhales and runs his teeth and tongue over flushed skin. He smells incredible, the scent that comes from magic clinging to him; like burning leaves, lightening that strikes damp earth. Powerful and enthralling.

“It’s _fine_ ,” Taako gasps and uses a thigh to bracket Kravitz’s waist to pull him closer, cups his hands over the tapered cusps of Kravitz’s ears. They’re shaped more modestly than Taako’s own ears, as is typical when elven ancestry is further removed in the bloodline. No less sensitive though, and Kravitz goes still, hisses when Taako nips at a tip. Kravitz digs his fingers into the hollow of Taako’s hips, has to nudge their foreheads together and breathe out a long, shaky exhale.

“Guuhh,” Taako wheezes, “how are you this responsive? Aren’t you dead? How does this even feel?”

“Very good,” Kravitz says in a rush, and then Taako is kissing him purposefully, quick little bites that Kravitz barely tastes before they’re gone and replaced with something deeper. He rolls his body flush to Kravitz, and pauses when Kravitz lets out another harsh breath as his crotch is rubbed against the inside of Taako’s thigh. 

“I wasn’t sure if--” Taako looks down between them, back up, and doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead says, “Fuck it. Doesn’t matter, let’s _do_ this,” and his hands slide to Kravitz’s belt.

“Taako,” Kravitz’s eyes shut at the sound of leather being slid out of place, “Taako..” he reaches down and grabs Taako’s wrist, feels an impatient huff break against his cheek. “I didn’t,” he tries thinking through the burn of want coursing through him. “I didn’t come here with expectations. I really thought you’d just missile me back through my own portal.”

Taako looks at Kravitz carefully for several seconds. He leans in, keeps his eyes open as he kisses him slowly, until Kravitz loses the will to hold him back and allows his grip on Taako’s wrist to fall away. 

“You aren’t the only one who wants it,” Taako whispers against his lips, metal jingling as he undoes Kravitz’s belt. “This isn’t some thank you for not killing me,” he smooths his palms down Kravitz’s chest, tugs his shirt tail out and slides his fingers against bare skin, the soft tips of them dipping just below the waistband. 

“Would you know if it was?” Kravitz’s breath hisses between his teeth when Taako’s thumb nearly brushes the head of his dick.

“I guess that’s fair,” Taako shrugs, rubs that thumb in a steady, maddening circle against Kravitz’s hipbone that gets lowers with each revolution. 

“And you’re not going to go dead behind the eyes every five minutes? You’ll say something if--”

“Look,” Taako pinches the bridge of his nose, “I think we’re nineteen deaths, three attempted murders, one weird date, and two boners-- pun intended-- past what’s considered the social norm or just plain fucking _tasteful._. Now, do you wanna argue semantics, or do you want to take me in that bedroom over there and see what happens?”

He doesn’t sound demanding or impatient, it’s a genuine question. Kravitz answers by tugging Taako off the bar, kisses him slow and resolute.

“Um. I don’t know which one is your bedroom, or if that’s the bathroom door over there, or..”

“Oh, right,” Taako giggles and cradles Kravitz’s index and middle finger in his palm as he leads him past the living area and through a door on the far side of the room.

He hadn’t quite realized the extent of their hesitance before. Once Taako turns a lock, the dam bursts. Taako pushes Kravitz’s back against the door and immediately kisses are open-mouthed and desperate. Kravitz switches their positions in a moment and it’s so easy to slide Taako up the frame, encircle him with his arms and walk them backward toward the bed. 

“I’m serious,” Kravitz says as the back of his knees hit the mattress, and suddenly he has a lap full of Taako. “It’s been _ages_ , I just sort of thought this part of my existence was over after I di--” Taako moves his hips, and _fuck_ friction. Kravitz abandons the thought and braces his forearm across the base of Taako’s spine and grinds them hard together.

“Doesn’t matter,” Taako whispers against Kravitz’s lips between kisses, “You were right, when you said I don’t let anyone close. This isn’t something that happens a lot.”

Kravitz smiles in the crook of Taako’s neck before kissing the soft skin behind his ear, blurts, “Thank you.” It might not have been a compliment, but no one has ever found Kravitz worth breaking unspoken rules with themselves over.

He can practically hear Taako rolls his eyes, “Don’t get cocky pal,” he writhes a little when the tip of Kravitz’s tongue runs the length of his ear, “you haven’t even gotten me naked yet.”

That’s absolutely true. 

Kravitz tugs the hem of Taako’s oversized grey shirt up and off over his head, twists his loose plait in his fist before pivoting Taako down flat onto the bed. Kravitz sits up between Taako’s legs, hooks his fingers into the waistband of his shorts and underwear, he pulls them off slowly, bites down on his lower lip when Taako’s erection is freed. 

A tiny pearl of precome beads at the tip, and Kravitz only registers that he’s moved down to lick it away at the same moment he can taste it on his tongue. Taako jolts like he’s been pinched, fingers scraping against Kravitz’s forearms. Kravitz takes the head into his mouth, gives it gentle, wet suck, and just like that he’s coaxed Taako into a whimper. He’d forgotten how much he liked this, the firm weight on his tongue, the noises a person makes when he finds out what they like.

Taako grabs him by the shirt collar and hauls him back up. Kravitz grunts in protest.

“Later,” he says, “let me,” he tugs at Kravitz’s shirt, _“just let me,”_ he breathes again, batting Kravitz’s hands away from the buttons and sets his fingers to task slipping each one through their slot. 

Taako flattens his palms against Kravitz’s bare flesh and slowly pushes the shirt away until it’s pools at his elbows. His eyes move hungrily across the exposed skin, a long finger traces his clavicle.

It’s difficult, this, trying to appreciate the raw anticipation of being undressed, when Kravitz can’t take his eyes off the person underneath him. It’s all so much. Taako’s lips are slightly swollen from kissing, half-lidded eyes an otherworldly shade of green as he stares up at Kravitz. There’s heat there in that gaze, but also something sad and bound to him in a place Kravitz can’t see or touch. He wants to put his hands all over Taako, press down hard and smear away whatever it is that is hurting him so slowly and quietly.

Kravitz brushes a thumb over his cheek, a rosy tinge has lit under Taako’s skin. He’s lighter than Kravitz’s deep, earth-richened ochre. Taako has freckles, just there, uneven flecks burned there by the sun. He reminds Kravitz of the final days of autumn; the light of a silver moon clinging to the last golden leaf of a valley oak before winter breathes its spell. 

“Beautiful,” Kravitz says, even though Taako must know it already. 

Taako shrugs, his hands brush slowly down Kravitz’s chest. “I’m not really suffering over this view either. Hey, listen.. I got a super neat idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Fuck me.”

Kravitz makes some strangled, urgent sound, and doesn’t so much finish taking off his trousers as he does just _vanish_ them? Which is going to be embarrassing later when Kravitz replays this memory. 

Taako wheezes, fights off a shudder at the sudden chill against his skin. He doesn’t fuss at all though, interrupts Kravitz’s apology and says, “Oh dunk, cool trick,” then his hands are all over Kravitz, nails scraping down his spine, squeezing his bottom, pulling him down.

“Ngh,” Kravitz mumbles against Taako’s lips, gives up trying to exact any measure of control over the writhing body below him and collapses fully on top of Taako. “You’re so hot.” 

“Mhm mhmm, we’ve already covered this.”

“No, not like--” well, that too, obviously, but,“I mean heat hot. I forget how warm it is, being alive.”

Taako gives him a tight look, contemplative and a little sad, then reaches down between their bodies and takes Kravitz in hand. 

It happens somehow in a blur, but also in aching detail; the slow stroke of his cock distracting him, a whispered spell, Kravitz’s hand being guided down, the first slick slip of a fingertip inside Taako. Another finger that makes him arch and pant humid breaths against Kravitz’s shoulder. Another finger that has Taako making _such_ a sound when Kravitz turns his wrist just _so._

“Do it,” Taako urges, wet fingers stroking once over his dick before positioning him. “It’s fine, I’m _fine_.”

“I’m not sure you’re--” but the words get lost from one breath and the next as Taako grabs Kravitz’s hips with a surprising amount of strength for his size, a sudden jerk and--

_Fuckfuck there’s even more heat here. God that can’t possibly be right, what the fuck--_

Taako smiles, a bit smug, and Kravitz isn’t sure how much of his train of thought made it past his lips. When Taako tugs again, Kravitz goes easily, allows himself to be slowly buried in that welcome warmth until it’s surrounding him, sparking off in some long neglected part of his soul. 

Taako’s breathing is stilted as he stares up at Kravitz, his pupils spreading like blots of wet ink. After a few moments he nods. Kravitz bites his bottom lip, pulls out and pushes back inside carefully. Every sensation is intense, the slick withdrawal, every slow, aching shove inside; both hands pressing Taako’s thighs back, Kravitz’s forehead pressed low on his chest. He can feel the staccato of Taako’s heart against his cheek, a wild _tha-thump tha-thump_ ; the too fragile mechanics of his mortality. 

“You don’t have to be so gentle,” Taako gasps, as Kravitz moves inside him, a hand under Taako’s knee leaving to stroke his cock. Kravitz doesn’t remember liking it this slow when he was alive. Most of those experiences were from short-lived romances. He was mostly too nervous or too shy to act upon mutual interest, and there had always been something else taking up his attention: Studies, ambitions, obligations. 

He’d thought he’d have time to find someone he felt strongly enough about, even as his life ran out, he still thought he’d have more time.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Kravitz whispers, pulls all the way out, leans up to watch himself being taken, watches his hips pull flush to Taako’s soft skin.

Taako’s hands come up and brackets Kravitz’s face, he gives him a complicated look, “I really think you mean that.” 

He strains upward and kisses Kravitz until all that’s left is heat and the trembling and the wanting, _god_ the wanting. Kravitz can’t bear it anymore and thrusts into him again, each breach more insistent than the one before it. 

Something unyielding and possessive crawls its way up the back of Kravitz’s spine that has him pinning Taako to the bed, leaning his weight against him like an anchor. Kravitz buries his face in Taako’s throat, bites down a little. It’s sensory overload, touching Taako’s warm skin, breathing in that rich magical scent clinging to him, his pulse erratic against Kravitz’s lips. Some dim part of Kravitz’s brain tries to find whatever slow rhythm he’d started with, but when Kravitz tries to pull back to calm himself, Taako reacts emphatically; makes a desperate, shrill sound, one arm flings over the crown of Kravitz’s shoulders, the other hooking over his bicep, and he holds him there in a trembling embrace. He can feel Taako’s cock rubbing wetly against his stomach every time he fucks into him.

Taako doesn’t say anything before he comes. There’s a rising whine in every exhale before he jerks his face aside, meaningless fricatives falling from his lips, his body arching as he muffles a shout against Kravitz’s arm. 

“Oh,” Kravitz gasps, then, _“Oh!_ ” when he realizes what’s happening, feels Taako contracting around him, feels heat and slickness pulsing against his belly where Taako had been rutting up against him. Kravitz’s rhythm stutters, his mind drifting in some precarious space, caught between ecstasy and aching need, and for a moment Kravitz isn’t sure if this form remembers how to bridge the gap between the two. 

“Taako..” 

Thumbs push over Kravitz’s cheekbones. “ _Maa ie’ amin,”_ Taako urges in Elvish, his voice sharp, _look at me_. Kravitz doesn’t remember when he’d closed his eyes, and he has no idea what his face is saying to Taako right now.

Taako’s gaze is the same complex mix of emotions it always is, but having his full focus directed on Kravitz is intoxicating. Taako nods, bites his bottom lip and scrapes his nails over Kravitz’s ass. He grabs Kravitz’s hands and places them firmly against the dip of his waist, his own hands reaching upward to stabilize against the headboard. 

“Hard as you need,” he murmurs.

Kravitz groans, fingers tightening as he rears up between Taako’s legs and begins pulling him down and down and down onto his cock. Kravitz’s eyes zero in on Taako’s face, the visible flush staining his cheeks, his panting mouth and exposed throat, the mess of his plait come loose, moonlit waves spread across the sheets as the force of Kravitz’s thrusts jostles his body.

Kravitz very nearly shakes apart when he comes, unsure if it’s Taako’s wild eyes on him, or the quiet gasp of Kravitz’s name on his lips, that sets him over the edge. 

The essence of his soul wants to loosen itself, to free itself from this aspect and its limitations and it’s trappings. Somehow the desire to stay with Taako overrides that instinct, keeps him contained. 

It’s several moments before either of them try to speak, but even then it’s halted syllables, never a fully formed word.

“I,” Taako whispers, his hands seem indecisive as to whether they want to push Kravitz away or clutch tighter. Kravitz can feel the tension creeping back into the body underneath him, and thinks perhaps, he too, had been imprecise about where this might lead.

Kravitz smoothes the sweat-damp hair away from Taako’s face, and he isn’t sure what it is that Taako needs, but he wants to give it to him anyway. 

So he kisses him; soft brushes against Taako’s cheeks, under his jaw, temple, his lips.

The tension in Taako’s body seeps away, the nervous thrum in his chest steadies. 

Trembling fingertips stroke the line of Kravitz’s back.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***
> 
> Okay, so apparently jk this chapter is going out with the first three. Ya'll gonna have to wait a few days for the final one though. Gots to get that tail end in order lads.
> 
> **


	4. Cadenza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--
> 
> “I’m a glorified therapist for dark spirits, Taako, you’re going to have to do a lot worse than abandonment issues and bad defense mechanisms.” 
> 
> \--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **
> 
> I know I said this was going to be the last chapter.. but I decided to split this lead up into events surrounding the final canon arc, otherwise this chapter would be like.. over 16,000 words. I felt this was tonally, the better option. Finale should be up soon also, though. Again, still working on those last words with little free time in which to do so.
> 
> **

\---

_A murder of crows are perched all around him, their feathers ruffled by the wind. The sky is blown grey, the ground beneath him downcast in shadow. Kravitz thinks it must be clouds, a storm forming overhead, and this is why the world looks so dull._

_But it is not the absence of the sun muting the earth. It’s the absence of color itself, like life is being bled out from every blade of grass. Unease creeps up Kravitz’s spine._

_**Mother?** Kravitz thinks, and reaches out to touch the single Raven closest to him. There is no reply. Every bird is gazing silently in the same direction, across this unfamiliar field, all the way toward the horizon where land and sky smear together. The longer he looks, the more anxious he becomes. He tries stretching his senses, to connect to the resonant hum of a soul, any soul, because wherever Kravitz is, he worries he’s here alone._

_He’s felt this before, felt it in the pit of his stomach and in the horrible briefness of his life as it slipped away. The inevitability of something coming to swallow him up whole._

_The ground shakes, a darkness splits the firmament--_

Kravitz wakes up alone with a start, shoves himself up to sitting while his eyes dart about the room. He can’t remember the last time he’s stayed in this form long enough to dream. It takes a moment, but he settles and remembers where he is and how he got here. There are sounds coming from outside the door, what might be running water, clinking metal. Kravitz tries shaking off the residual anxiety, but he’s still left with a distinct unrest. 

He wants to see Taako, just the thought of it makes the feeling subside a bit.

Kravitz can’t quite recall the protocol for this, if he’s expected to wordlessly disappear or not. It seems rude to just cut a portal without a goodbye, especially after having come inside someone the night before. Kravitz recalls his clothes, dresses and leaves the bedroom, hoping it’s the right thing to do.

He slips quietly into the main area of Taako’s quarters, careful to ensure no one else is there. Kravitz isn’t sure how well Magnus or Merle would take to finding a reaper in their home, considering their past, and the fact that Kravitz is responsible for the excision of a particular dwarven arm. People tend to resent these sort of things, dismemberment and the like.

Taako is in the kitchen, humming to himself and stirring something fragrant, he doesn’t seem to notice Kravitz. A cup levitates toward his mouth and Taako tastes whatever it is, shakes his head and sprinkles sugar into it.

Kravitz creeps over to a set table, admires the small bouquet of wildflowers gathered in a simple crystal vase. They must be freshly cut, still vibrant and healthy. Without forethought, he reaches out to stroke the bell of a purple foxglove.

It immediately withers under his touch. Kravitz grimaces.

“Whoopsie.” Kravitz jumps at the closeness of Taako’s voice. Taako looks at him, a half smile playing at his lips that he tries to hide when he looks down. “Problem?”

Kravitz gestures awkwardly to the dying blossom. “I’m sorry,” he looks at his hands, drops them to his sides. “They don’t like me.”

Taako raises a brow, “Well, you did beef it with Pan’s boy, maybe he’s holding a grudge. Do you eat?”

“It’s not necessary,” he starts, then pauses when Taako’s ears wilt a bit and he lowers the plate clutched in his hands, “but I _can_ , physically I mean. Do that.”

Taako smiles again and nods toward the table for Kravitz to sit. He sets a dish in front of him, and removes the napkin covering it. Steam wafts upward, brushes warmth against Kravitz’s cheek, it smells amazing. 

“S’nothing fancy. Mushroom, cheese, and spinach omelette. I would have made something legit, I just didn’t expect you..” He stops abruptly.

“What?” Kravitz picks up his fork.

Taako takes a breath and doesn’t look him in the eye, “To be here, still.”

Kravitz glances toward the door, “If you’d rather--”

“No!” Taako interrupts, “It’s _good_. It’s just been a long time since I did a thing, and woke up next to it in the morning. I’m not--shit--I’m not complaining.”

Kravitz nods and settles into the meal. The omelette is delicious, seasoned perfectly, or perhaps it’s just been awhile since Kravitz has eaten anything like it. Last thing he’d consumed in this form was a bottle of cabernet sauvignon during that first sort-of date. Taako watches him from across the table, eyes bright and amused when Kravitz finishes his food long before Taako’s even eaten half of his own.

“Can I ask you a question?” Taako props his elbows on the table, chin resting against the tops of his hands.

“Of course.”

“How does this work,” he waves his fork toward Kravitz, “all of this. How do you stay together? How do you feel things, like people. You feel like people when I touch you. Little colder than what I’m used to, sure, but definitely real. You know what I’m saying?”

“I am a person,” Kravitz furrows his brow, “What exactly did you think you were sleeping with last night?”

Taako blushes, his freckles accentuated by the burst of color. “Dunno. I thought maybe you worked like a zomb--”

Kravitz pulls such a face of disgust. “Zombies are just reanimate corpses. They’re empty. They’re nothing, flesh and bones.”

“I know,” Taako rolls his eyes, “I get what--”

“I have a soul,” Kravitz says quietly, looks down at the table, scrapes the tines of his fork against the plate. “Just like you.”

“Hey, I know that,” Taako reaches across the table and brushes their fingers together. “Just trying to understand you, m’man. You’ve been alive before, so hitting this is old hat, but I’ve never been with.. whatever it is happening to keep that rockin’ bod together. What are the rules? I’m a _wizard_ , this is some magic I haven’t encountered, cha’boy’s curious.” Then, more lightly, “I know you have a soul.”

“That’s what I am though, that’s what all of this is,” Kravitz grasps Taako’s hand, holds it in his palm and traces the delicate veins that map underneath his skin. “Think of your soul as sort of tissue, made of every thought and experience and memory, every thing you’ve ever learned, every feeling you’ve ever felt. This form is a memory, made of that tissue.”

Taako looks cynical, sweeps his hair off his right shoulder and points to a small bruise low on his throat where Kravitz accidentally marked him. Kravitz feels at once embarrassed and somewhat thrilled at the sight of it.

“Sure looks pretty corporeal to me,” Taako presses the mark with his thumb, bites his lip. 

“Memories are real,” Kravitz explains, “What you feel, happiness, sadness, anger, that’s real.”

“Yeah, but I can’t touch a thought and ideas. You’re talking about intangible, immaterial shit. Like with transmutation, I can manipulate the form of a thing, but it has to actually _be_ a thing.”

“I’d say you’d have to die in order to access the concept and understand it, but I think the dramatic irony wouldn’t even be funny at this point.”

Taako grins. “Were you this much of a nerd when you were alive?”

“No,” Kravitz laughs and strokes Taako’s wrist, “I was stupid. Even the wisest man is a child when they first enter through the Gate.”

Taako seems to consider this. “How did you die, Kravitz?”

Kravitz takes a breath, gives a neutral smile, “I got sick.” 

Taako frowns. “What? That’s so..”

“Normal,” Kravitz supplies, “We don’t all get the opportunity to repeat the experience.” 

There’s a tug in Kravitz’s chest and he sighs. “I have to go,” he pushes out of his seat, stretches out his hand and calls his scythe. “Last night was--”

“Was this a one night deal,” Taako blurts, and immediately averts his gaze. “Like, it’s cool and all, if it is, Taako can handle that of _course_. I don’t know what kind of rules your goddess has regarding.. you know..extraplanar booty calls. I just mean, as long as you’re not trying to drag me to your McDonalds Play Place for Malevolent Entities,” Kravitz furrows his brow at that, not understanding, but Taako rambles on, “I’m good with this.” He stands and waves his hand in the space between their bodies. “If you want to...whatever, this is awkward as shit, you know what--”

Taako stretches up on his tiptoes, brackets Kravitz’s cheeks with his palms, and kisses him hard on the mouth like he’s making a point. Kravitz steps into the kiss, gentles the angle with a finger under Taako’s chin, and there _perfect_ Taako sighs against Kravitz’s lips, posture softening. When they pull away from each other, Taako’s eyes are unfocused.

Kravitz cups Taako’s ears, murmurs, “I’ll see you soon.”

 

\---

 

He’s been so busy. There seems to be a sudden uptick in necromantic cult activity, requiring more collaborative effort between Kravitz and his colleagues than what any of them are accustomed to. They all see him as the short straw in the group project. 

Kravitz wasn’t a wizard or warlock in his lifetime, nor was he a warrior or gifted in the arcane. He wasn’t chosen for this job based on any of the typical prerequisites. He’s still young, not as powerful, easily banished. But Kravitz is _smart_ , and if they’d just _listen_ to him before reigning down their fury, they’d come away with more prisoners, less collateral damage, and souls more inclined to engage in rehabilitation after entering the Stockade. 

True, Kravitz might have gotten romantically involved with a strangely charming bounty and let him go, but that was just _one_... and his friends.. And the robot Noelle and the necromancer Lucas and there was the whole Legion incident that happened on Kravitz’s watch. And sure, generally these are not things that will earn you clout with this particular group of co-workers.

His point still stands.

Kravitz sits at the piano he’d conjured years ago, runs his fingers over the keys before playing the C major scale. He’s going to see Taako later, for first time since that night in kitchen where Kravitz kissed him and wanted him more than he’s wanted anything else. 

They talk over their stones often, normal conversations usually, _what did you do today,_ and _tell me about where you grew up_ , and _catch any souls for your Mom,_ and _tell me what you’re wearing… Good, now take it off. Are you thinking about me? How about now?_

He misses Taako more than he should, full stop.

Kravitz runs another scale, an arpeggio, warms his fingers up with quick ornamentations. He played several instruments in his lifetime, could make sense of strings and keys and the language they spoke as easily as Kravitz could understand his mother tongue. The piano had always been his favourite, though. Sentiment. It was the first instrument he’d ever touched. Professors, his own mother, had urged him toward bardism, but Kravitz had no interest in magic. He only wanted to serve the music, not the other way around.

A Raven perches on the music rack and croaks.

Kravitz’s middle and forefinger trill a quick response on the keyboard. “Yes, it has been awhile.” 

The Raven calls again and Kravitz laughs and gives Her a sideways glance, “Of course I remember how to play it, I’m built of these notes after all.” This had been his life, the singular passion he’d found in his brief mortal existence. And to prove it he allows his fingers to glide over the keys, coaxing out a gentle song. 

The Raven flies onto his shoulder, butts Her head against him to keep playing when Kravitz pauses to roll up his sleeves. His fingers settle in position and the melody begins again, an old elven lullaby Kravitz’s mother would play to him to lull him to sleep, to soothe him when he was sick. Kravitz knows now that it was her way of demonstrating love, expressing herself through this medium the way she never did with words or affection. She cared deeply for him, but held herself always out of Kravitz’s reach, unknowable. The memories are old, but Kravitz still feels the pang of old hurt, softened only by time and nostalgia. The Raven titters in Kravitz’s ear, plucks fussily at his hair.

“Don’t get jealous,” Kravitz huffs and shakes his head, “You weren’t my first mother, you know,” but still he bridges the chorus into an original composition, one he never finished because after he died it seemed appropriate that it was cut short before its resolution. The Raven settles now, content to sit and listen. 

Kravitz senses something along the bond that ties him to Her, he isn’t sure what exactly it is or if She even means to project it, but there’s the distinct impression of foreboding, a tenuous worry. It’s nothing he’s ever felt from Her, because what in existence could bring fear to the goddess of Death. She is the one true constant, over life itself, even over _time_.

“Hey,” Kravitz murmurs, fingers still moving of their own accord, “You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” 

It sounds ridiculous. He’s tied into Her power, but Kravitz is no where _near_ Her strength. He’d probably legitimately explode in every manner, in every form, if he tried tapping that well.

She says nothing, sits quietly on his shoulder as the song abruptly ends.

\---

 

Taako is on him as soon as Kravitz steps through the portal, pushing Kravitz back and back until he lands on the sofa. He crawls onto Kravitz’s lap, “I got the guys out for the night, it’s just us,” Taako says between kisses. 

Kravitz runs his hands over the sharp edges of Taako’s shoulder blades, tries gentling him when Taako seems hellbent on taking Kravitz’s clothes off _right now_. 

“What’s the rush then?” Kravitz can’t help a small grunt when Taako undoes his first few shirt buttons and slides warm fingers against Kravitz’s skin, dipping under the collar to scratch his nails against Kravitz’s shoulders. 

“Yeah _they’re_ out,” Taako kisses his way up Kravitz’s throat, “but you’re always the one being summoned away. Gotta get while the gettin’s good, son. Besides,” he whispers in Kravitz’s ear before sucking softly on the lobe, “I wanna make sure you still like me.”

Kravitz sighs harshly through his nose at the barest edge of teeth grazing the tip of his ear. Taako yelps when Kravitz grabs him by the hips and pulls Taako hard against him. 

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he promises, and Taako shudders, hips moving against Kravitz’s firm grasp in order to grind them together. Kravitz works a hand up to the nape of Taako’s neck and levers their mouths together. It isn’t fair how good Taako is at this, how hot and sweet his kisses taste when Kravitz still can’t seem to remember how to work his own goddamn internal thermostat. 

Taako leans back, flips a curtain of lustrous hair over his shoulder and winks at Kravitz. It seems strange and out of place and Kravitz isn’t sure if it’s supposed to be a sex thing or not. He’s in the middle of wondering if he’s supposed to do it _back_ when the static tingle of coming into contact with something magical passes over him. Taako disappears from his arms.

Kravitz has time to manage a confused, “What--” before Taako reappears on the floor between his legs, his hands already removing Kravitz’s belt. He palms Kravitz through his trousers, looks up at him and grins, lips curling over slightly prominent front teeth. Too cute.

Kravitz’s head falls back against the sofa and he breathes hard at the ceiling. “I can’t believe,” he pants when the leather gives, then the clasps of his trousers, “You wasted a spell slot on-- _shit_ ,” he croaks, flings an arm over his eyes when Taako nudges a cheek against his dick. 

Taako hm’s and continues working Kravitz out of his trousers, slips a hand into the confines of his underwear and takes out his erection. Kravitz hisses at the touch, already eager, curses again at the first heated, slick touch of Taako’s tongue licking a stripe base to tip.

Taako nips the soft skin at the inside of Kravitz’s thigh. 

“You’re gonna wanna watch me,” he murmurs. 

Kravitz takes a deep breath and yanks his head down. Immediately he regrets it. The image is probably going to stick with him forever, and pop up at inopportune moments, Kravitz knows it is.

Taako is looking at him from underneath his long, pale lashes, his lips brushing slowly across the crown of Kravitz’s dick, a flush high in his cheeks. 

 

“Did you think about this?” he asks, planting a lingering kiss to the underside of the glans.

“Yes,” Kravitz admits quietly, hands twisting into the pillows on either side of his hips . He’s thought of a lot of things. 

“Good,” Taako smirks and slides his lips over the head, a delicate suck just over the slit that causes a not so delicate reaction to go off inside of Kravitz. “This better than the fantasy, my man?”

“Of _course_ ,” Kravitz grits out as Taako takes him deeper, bobs his head shallowly. It’s a tease, but it’s a very _good_ tease, and Kravitz groans and digs his hands into the fabric at his sides.

Taako notices this, shucks himself off Kravitz’s dick long enough to pluck his hands from their pillows, placing one on his shoulder, the other in his hair. Kravitz starts to protest, not because this is objectionable by any means, he just has doubts as to his own ability to hold still in the heat of the moment. He seems to remember having issues with that. 

Taako levels him with a look. “It might have been awhile, but I’m not a newbie at this, m’kay? Relax.” He resettles between Kravitz’s knees, sighs contentedly as he nuzzles against his erection . “I’ll let you knows if you do anything I don’t like. Just don’t yank my ears,” his ears leveling back as he says it.

“What?” Kravitz flinches at the thought of it. “Who’d do something like--” but all words go away when Taako’s mouth returns, hot and wet and this time not teasing. He works his way down a little at a time, always pulling back up to swirl his tongue around the tip. Taako’s hand grips him at the base, steadying them both, while the other charts its way toward Kravitz’s belly, elbow locking out as he pushes Kravitz’s shirt up around mid-chest.

He groans when Taako pulls off a moment to lap at his fraenulum, and as much as Kravitz is revelling in this feeling, Taako also seems to be getting something out of it too. Little whimpers, heavy sighs, the enthusiasm in which he takes what Kravitz is offering; the vulnerability and its significance coming from Taako is not lost on Kravitz. 

“You were right,” Kravitz says hoarsely, pushing Taako’s hair back from his face, “you look amazing like this.” 

Taako’s eyes turn big and luminous, he whines quietly and licks Kravitz again, head bumping up a little into Kravitz’s hand like a request. _Oh fuck_ Kravitz thinks as his fist tightens minisculely in Taako’s hair, hoping it’s the right thing, then _oh fuck_ when Taako turns pliant and allows Kravitz to guide his mouth over his dick, easing him down as Taako’s lips part to take him inside. He says the last one out loud as Taako begins bobbing his head again, the wet sounds of saliva and suction driving Kravitz around the bend.

His fingers tighten down in Taako’s hair. Kravitz crushes the silky weight of it in his fist. 

“God, Taako,” he wheezes, shoves up shakily just as his hands push down. Not enough to choke Taako, but enough to wring out one of those high keens from his throat. Kravitz starts to apologize anyways, but Taako bucks up in his hands again, fingers tightening on him.

Taako does something _amazing_ with his tongue, and that’s when Kravitz’s manners leave the fucking moonbase. He braces his back against the sofa and begins thrusting into Taako’s soft, hot mouth, smooth punctuations of his hips, not rough, just firm. 

“Is this okay?” he grits out when he accidentally pops out of Taako’s mouth and has to guide his dick back between Taako’s lips. Taako responds by setting a rapid pace, his throat fluttering and constricting, free hand grabbing Kravitz’s hip and urging him forward.

“You’re so--Taako--you really-- _ngh_ just take it--” Kravitz babbles nonsensically, gasps for stupid, worthless air, then doubles over Taako’s back when he comes. The hand not currently twisted in Taako’s hair, scrambles against the curve of Taako’s back as he works Kravitz through each heavy pulse, swallowing and swallowing.

Kravitz begins shuddering in oversensitivity and Taako slides off. When he speaks his voice is rough as hell and something flips in Kravitz’s stomach. 

Taako wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, stares up at him. “Kravitz, your face-- _wow_ ,” he blinks, and Kravitz can’t get to him fast enough. He knocks Taako down on the floor within a second, is rucking his loose t-shirt up with his hands, pulling underwear around Taako’s knees. Kravitz kisses him fiercely, trying to convey the large gnawing feeling growing inside him, and-- _fuck_ his mouth is wet, he tastes like magic and sex.

Taako lets out such a sound when Kravitz’s mouth descends on him, swallowing him down with none of the finesse Taako displayed. He’s definitely going to feel guilty about it later, Taako deserves better than a sloppy blowjob. 

It’s a scant minute or two before Taako is whining and incoherent, his legs spreading and trembling where they’re steepled over Kravitz shoulders. He doesn’t pull Kravitz’s locs, which he’s dimly grateful for, but Taako’s fingers spread over his scalp, grounding himself there as he arches up and comes in Kravitz’s mouth. It’s a different taste than what Kravitz remembers, not the bitter indelicate flavor that Kravitz never really developed any sort of opinion about. It’s the same wild, strange sweetness that Kravitz recognizes as exclusively belonging to Taako. 

“Holy shit,” Taako gasps, “You can-- _ah!_ ” he yelps and scoots back a little, but also presses Kravitz’s head down like his body is still caught between signals.

Kravitz finally registers that he’s still sucking like Taako hadn’t just come, and reluctantly slides his mouth away, pressing one last tender kiss against the head before climbing over Taako and dropping on top of him, arms flung out on either side.

Taako lets out a small _oof_ but still puts his arms around Kravitz’s back and holds him there anyways, fingers walking up the back of Kravitz’s shirt to stroke the notches of his spine.

“Y’know,” Taako says, voice still a little breathless, “I’m glad Magnus put this shitty rug on the floor. Otherwise I’d be ass to glass right now.”

Kravitz grunts and peers at the pattern over Taako’s left shoulder. It’s definitely orcish weave, and it’s _definitely_ the motif of Luthic, but Kravitz decides to keep that to himself. 

 

“Can I ask you something?” Taako says later, suddenly timid, after they’ve eaten his fontal polenta and mushroom saute. After they’ve cleaned up and played cards, and Kravitz stared at Taako’s graceful fingers comb through his hair and asked if he could plait it for him.

“Ask me anything,” Kravitz murmurs, dividing Taako’s hair into sections and begins crossing them. The texture proves difficult, fine and slippery, but Kravitz manages.

Taako hesitates, shifts between Kravitz’s knees. “Who uh, who taught you to braid,” he says in monotone.

“I taught myself,” Kravitz answers, then turns Taako’s face toward him. “But that’s not what you wanted to ask, was it.”

Taako chews the corner of his bottom lip, eyes sliding away. “No.”

Kravitz waits and when nothing else comes, he sighs. “Taako, I can’t read your mind. You’re going to have to say it,” but Taako sets his jaw and turns back around, waves a hand at Kravitz to keep braiding. Kravitz shakes his head and parts another section. 

He’s barely made it halfway down the crown of Taako’s skull when Taako whirls on him. “Is it just sex?”

Startled, Kravitz fumbles a lock of hair and the plait half unravels before he can catch it. “Pardon?”

“Is. it. just. sex.” Taako repeats, each word punctuated by a finger jabbing at the air. 

“Is _what_ sex?” Kravitz asks.

“This!” Taako waves between them, “Whatever’s happening here. Look, I need to know, okay? I’m just kinda out of my depth here and I need to _know_ if we’re strictly shaking the sheets, or…” Taako stops abruptly, folds his arms across his chest and seethes. 

“Um,” Kravitz blinks, truly bewildered, “I… thought I was clearly emotionally involved in this. When I said I liked you, I didn’t mean just for sex. Did you.. Did you think that’s what I meant?”

That answer seems to make Taako even madder. “Just like that you’re just going to _like_ like me? Are you crazy?”

“I’m not sure what you want me to say,” Kravitz admits, diplomatically as possible. “I thought it was clear on that first date that I was interested. I remember you as being the evasive one.”

“Yeah, but..but,” Taako sputters.

“It’s not really that compli--”

“Yes it _is_ complicated! This is complicated. Feelings are complicated, that’s why I don’t do them.” Now that Taako has started actually talking, his words spill out in a rush, slipping in and out of Elven and Common so fast that Kravitz’s head spins. “This shit makes you weak, it gets inside your head and makes you reckless, and everyone leaves--”

“Who?” Kravitz asks, desperately trying to keep up.

“ _Everyone_ ,” Taako says, voice going thin, “Always, every single fucking time. There they are, and here I am, and then there’s _you_. You come swinging in with your _face_ and your weird goth scythe,” accusatory, “And out of everyone, there’s something about _you_. We’re not talking the little butterfly feelings bucko, okay, the BIG ones! The ‘making plans’ kind, even though you’re a harbinger of Death and really fucking scary! It’s too fast. I feel to _much_. I’m not sure what it is you think I am, but I’m not a nice guy. I’m not like..fuck.. Magnus, I’m not a hero. I’m selfish as shit, and people have died because of it. Innocent people. And I sleep fine at night! Does that sound like person you want to be with? I’d drop every last one of these bozos in this joint if it meant saving the tiny handful of people I _give a shit_ about because Taako has some super deep seated fucking ABANDONMENT ISSUES that I don’t like to talk about, _ever_ so yeah, it’s complicated!”

Taako breathes heavily into the ensuing silence. 

Taako’s eyes flick nervously about, ears lowering, the full weight of his outburst crashing back down on top of him.

“Nevermind,” he says quickly, swallowing, “Forget I said that. I’m just gonna--”

Kravitz lets go of Taako’s hair, pulls him around and looks him in the eye. 

“I don’t know who did this you, who hurt you or left you. I’m sorry they did, I _am_. But you’re not going to convince me to walk away from this, and you’ll have to tell me if you don’t feel the same.” Taako starts to argue but Kravitz cuts him off. “I’m a glorified therapist for dark spirits, Taako, you’re going to have to do a lot worse than abandonment issues and bad defense mechanisms.” 

Kravitz sets a hand at the center of Taako’s chest, his eyes drifting closed, and when Kravitz finds what he’s looking for, his mouth twitches. 

“At the risk of sound extremely creepy and ruining this anyways, you aren’t what you think you are, Taako. I’d be able to sense a corrupt soul, and it’s just not inside you. The image you’ve built inside your head.. It’s a part of you, but that isn’t _you_ , not all of you. And I want to know all of you. I wish you felt kinder toward yourself. ” Kravitz opens his eyes, sighs as he disconnects from Taako’s resonance, and kisses him softly. He pulls away and nudges their noses together, touches Taako’s cheek, “So no, to answer your question: It’s not just sex.”

Taako clears his throat, his hand slowly settling on top of Kravitz’s. “Okay. Huh,” he huffs awkwardly, “You uh, really dear Abby’d me there. You do this with all your bounties?”

“Reaping is a very small part of the job,” Kravitz admits. “Can I finish braiding your hair now?

Taako kisses him once more before turning back around and wrapping his bracer hand around Kravitz’s ankle.

\---

Everything Kravitz learns about Taako is important, even if it doesn’t always seem important.

Taako likes too much butter on his toast.

Taako can do six backhandsprings before he gets dizzy and falls over.

Taako doesn’t like the colour orange, but wears it anyways because it looks a _maz_ ing on him.

Taako is ticklish above his knees, wants to make love in the mornings, kisses like his life depends on it.

 

But some knowledge is sharp-edged, worrisome. It preoccupies Kravitz’s thoughts even when they’re apart. Something within Taako’s memory is fragmented, not through senility or illness, but by some other means that Kravitz can only postulate over.

Taako sings songs in the shower, songs Kravitz has never heard before. When Kravitz asks, Taako can’t remember where he learned them.

Taako will be in the middle of a story before freezing mid-sentence, unable to recall how it ends.

Taako looks sad when he thinks he’s alone or unwatched.

 

Taako cries out in his sleep, has terrible thrashing nightmares, and when Kravitz shakes him awake, he can never remember what he was dreaming.

Kravitz clutches him against his chest until the trembling subsides and doesn’t let go.

\---

 

Kravitz runs his hands up and down Taako’s back as he reads on the bed. His long, tapered fingers rub idly together, little sparks flying off of them as he whispers an incantation under his breath.

“Please don’t burn a hole in your bed,” Kravitz says, brushes Taako’s hair aside and kisses down the nape of his neck, smiles when an ear swats him against the cheek.

“Just a little prestidigitation, no biggie,” Taako closes his fist, jots some complicated math in the margins of his spare parchment. “Cha’boy’s gotta be ready.”

“For what,” Kravitz asks, though he already knows the answer.

Taako gives him a tight look, “You knew it was only a matter of time.” 

“I’m nervous.”

Taako rests his cheek against a fist.“Why? Even if I actually die this time, I’ll just end up in your plane anyways. Bada bing bada boom.”

“Don’t say that,” Kravitz murmurs, pulls Taako away from his spellbook and on top of himself so he can feel Taako’s heart beating. “You’ve only ever made it to the Gate, actually entering into the Astral Plane is another matter entirely, it’s more complex than you can imagine.” Taako shrugs and Kravitz rolls his eyes. “How long do you think before you’re called up?”

Taako looks over Kravitz’s face, eyes soft, “Anytime now I think. The Director gets this look in her eyes, starts staying in her office a lot, right before she sends us the assignment. And dude, it looks like she hasn’t slept a _wink_. This one has her shifty as hell.” He strokes his thumb over Kravitz’s bottom lip. 

“That.. really doesn’t make me feel better.”

Taako’s hands settle on Kravitz’s shoulders, he presses up to loom over him. 

“Chill dreamboat. I’ll have 260 pounds of beefcake in front of me, Pan’s Greatest Mistake behind me, and _the_ most baller spells coming out of me, just fucken-” he pulls a funny face and gestures over himself in a wave, “-gotdamn components in every nook and cranny and I do mean _every_.” He points his finger in Kravitz’s face, hair falling over his shoulder tickling Kravitz’s nose.

Kravitz snorts and brushes it away, “Gross.” 

Taako says, “Yeeepp!” pop’s the P at the end.

Kravitz smiles and places his palms against Taako’s face, thumbs pushing over his cheekbones. “Be careful, is all.”

Taako’s eyebrow twitches up, “Oh yeah for _sure_ , because if I bite it out there you’re gonna loose your space heater. You like your guys warm and toasty with a gooey center.”

 _“Because,”_ Kravitz explains patiently, “I like your general existence, and when I think about something hurting you it makes me upset.”

A complicated look settles into Taako’s bright eyes, before he lets his elbows buckle and collapses on top of Kravitz.

They kiss languidly, no rush to resolve any immediate tension. They’d fucked earlier in the day, and that’s exactly what it was; an unmistakable quickie sandwiched between Kravitz’s rehabilitation appointments, and one of Taako’s Reclaimer team exercises. 

Kravitz had cut a quick portal and they’d met in a stark office with nothing but a bulky machine in a corner containing items Kravitz didn’t even waste his time detecting magic on. A little name plate on the desk, with **Leon, Bureau Artificer** in gold letter across it, and Kravitz had felt a _little_ bad, but not bad enough to actually stop. Kravitz has no idea who Leon is, but he _did_ fuck Taako over his desk at lunchtime, and hopes he doesn’t have to ever meet him.

“This,” Kravitz murmurs against Taako’s lips, “god, this.” He rolls him onto his back, kissing his throat before moving back to the heaven of Taako’s mouth. 

“I know,” Taako says, sliding their tongues together, fingers finding their way up Kravitz’s shirt and smoothing down over his ribs. “Do you wanna fool arou--” he starts, then his right ear perks and flicks toward the door. 

“Taako?” but Taako Blinks out from under him, and Kravitz falls into the warmth of the space he had just occupied. He hears Taako’s voice somewhere outside the door, but whomever he’s speaking to has a voice too soft for Kravitz to understand in this form through the thick walls.

 

He holds, listening and wondering whether or not he should call his scythe and wait for Taako to explain the abrupt departure over his farstone. Something crashes hard in the living area, and Kravitz is off the bed, scythe in hand, out the door, and is in the middle of shedding his human aspect when he stops. 

Stares.

Taako and a child stare back, both of their mouths open, the child’s outstretched wand in hand.

Kravitz slowly regrows his skin, scythe dissipating in a puff of glittering grey smoke. “Hi,” Kravitz says awkwardly, glances at Taako who mouths _what the fuck?_

“I thought you were in trouble,” Kravitz whispers across the room, “I heard a crash.” His eyes drift over the familiar child, though he’s grown since Kravitz saw him last.

“Hello sir,” the boy says, voice too cheerful for someone who just saw a skeleton jump out of the bedroom. He noticeably doesn’t lower his wand and Kravitz arches a brow at him. 

Taako groans. “Kravitz, meet Agnes. Agnes, that’s Kravitz.” He pats the child’s shoulder. “You can put your wand down, kid. Great whirlwind though, it’s coming along. ” 

He obediently slips the wand into a little leather holster at his hip, then walks up to Kravitz.

“Angus McDonald,” he sticks out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.” Carefully, Kravitz shakes it. Angus looks down for a moment, obviously registering Kravitz temperature, but says nothing of it. He smiles back up at Kravitz. “What are you doing here, sir?”

Kravitz looks to Taako for help, but Taako is pouring a tall glass of water, he leans his back against the table and says blandly, “Come on. You know what he’s doing here.”

“My grandfather told me it’s impolite to assume,” Angus says over his shoulder before turning back to Kravitz. “Are you an emissary for the Raven Queen, an astral entity and Reaper of Souls?”

Taako chokes on his water.

Kravitz opens his mouth. Closes it. “Yes,” he admits, seeing no point in denying it. “You got it, good work.”

Angus shrugs modestly, “You carry her sigil on your scythe it wasn’t a hard guess. And your hands, I’m sorry, they’re very cold.”

“Ango, go easy on the guy.”

“I’m sorry,” Angus says again, still openly appraising Kravitz. “Will you be staying for for dinner? It’s Waffle Night, my favorite!”

Kravitz glances over to Taako, “Will I?”

“Cats out of the bag now, might as well.”

 

Kravitz decides quickly that he likes this odd boy. He somehow manages to straddle the line of brutal honesty and kindness right at the middle. He’s extremely bright, never seems to run out of questions, and he adores Taako. Kravitz has that in common with him. 

What is more, however, is the way Taako behaves with Angus. He fusses over the boy, and even though he tries to make it come out backhanded and inconsequential, it’s clear he cares very much for this human child. Kravitz can see it is a bond that goes beyond master and protege, teetering closer to something more tender, more protective and forbearing. 

Angus asks politely to examine Kravitz’s skeletal aspect and pokes curiously at his ribs while Taako sits back and grimaces.

Kravitz says, “That’s nothing, watch this,” and disintegrates into soul material, possesses a toaster.

It explodes within a minute, which Kravitz should have thought about beforehand, because it’s very small and not capable of holding that sort of energy for very long.

Angus’ eyes are wide with awe, he pushes his spectacles up his face and asks, “Can you do that with anything?”

“Just about.”

His little fists ball up under his chin and he bounces on his toes, “Could you do that with _me_?”

“Possess you? Sure! It works much better with souled beings, I--” 

_”Nope!_ Nuhhh nuhnuhnuh,” Taako gathers Angus behind him. “Blowing up my toaster, whatever, boyfriend possessing my magic train kid, I have to draw the line.”

Kravitz smiles brightly at Taako. “Boyf--”

Taako blushes and narrows his eyes, “Can it.”

“But you--”

Taako shushes him loudly. Kravitz looks at Angus and shrugs.

 

Later they are on the sofa, Kravitz sandwiched between Taako reading his spellbook, and Angus curled up, snoring quietly at his side. He strokes the back of Taako’s hair, his soul feeling larger than it’s ever been.

“This was a good day,” Kravitz says, leans his head onto Taako’s shoulder.

“Was it?” Taako murmurs, flips a page.

“It was good,” Kravitz repeats, and Taako glances down at him, a gentle smile on his lips. 

He kisses Kravitz’s forehead, whispers, “Let’s get this kid in the guest room.”

\---

 

They make love quietly, Taako’s warm body spooned back against Kravitz’s chest, his arm curled up and around the back of his head. Kravitz buries his face in the crook of Taako’s neck. One hand strokes between Taako’s legs, his other splayed across Taako’s belly, feeling the soft swell low in his abdomen every time Kravitz pushes inside. 

Taako gasps when he comes, a silvery, beautiful note that cuts straight into Kravitz’s nerve-endings and lays them bare. 

Taako falls into a deep meditation afterward, and Kravitz stays awake, watching for the tell-tale trembles of his state being overridden by nightmares. He traces the lovely groove of his spine, all the lines of demarcation that holds Taako’s borders together. For the hundredth time, Kravitz is shaken by just how _small_ he is, how limited his existence is within its confines. It seems impossible. It doesn’t seem fair that nature would construct something so incredible, yet so vulnerable. 

So easily broken, mortal bones.

\---


	5. A Measure Outside the Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \---  
> Kravitz had grown up near the Alamber sea, remembers the hypnotic sounds of water brushing up against the docks, how the sunlight would catch the surface of capping waves in an endless glittering array as far as Kravitz could see. Beautiful and peaceful.
> 
> This is nothing like that.  
> \---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***  
> I had some bizarre formatting issues, so I'm sorry if it's spaced oddly?? Anyways let's get this fic over with.  
> ***

 

The souls in the Eternal Stockade seem more restless than usual.  Kravitz has several cases who only a short time ago seemed nearly ready to Move On, but during their counseling sessions the souls appear to have reverted back to a hazardous state.  They don’t try and hurt Kravitz, lash out at him with raw soulbound energy or find ways to escape.  That would be normal, _that_ Kravitz could handle just fine.  

 

If anything, they want to be kept _in_ , many flat out refusing to exit the confines of the inner sanctum of the Stockade for socialization.  

 

Kravitz drops his form, feels the quick dispersal of himself go everywhere at once, before drawing it together into a concentrated orb of energy.  He enters the Stockade this way, perhaps they’ll be more inclined to communicate their distress or their fucking _problem_ if Kravitz is resonating on their level.  

 

The souls clambour over him at once, whirling around him, slamming into him before he can even try to connect to their various channels.  Kravitz instinctively begins warding them back, projecting a frequency that works as a shield to keep himself from being swarmed.

 

Only, wait.  No.

 

They aren’t trying to flood Kravitz or possess him or render him.  Kravitz can’t sense the the malignancy that comes from contact with souls with violent intentions.  They just seem… afraid.  

 

Kravitz concentrates on the thousands of voices pouring through him, the biggest asset of this state also being the most difficult to master.  Without the guidance of an anatomical format, he hears everything.  Every frequency. Every thought. Every replayed memory, looping over and over.  

 

Between all of this: Something repeated, a chant they all seem to be calling out.

 

_ Listen Listen Listen ListenListenListen _

 

If Kravitz had a head right now he’d be rubbing his temples. _**I can hear you just fine, now if you could explain what has you--**_

 

_LISTENLISTEN LISTEN_   they repeat with more force.

 

_**I’m listening to you, I promise, if you would just calm--**_ he stops for a moment, **_\--down._** The souls quiet around him, and Kravitz hears it instantly. 

 

There, in the corner of his mind: Silence. 

 

Not the peaceful reticence that comes right before a long sleep, or even the lonely silence of an empty room.

 

This is nothingness, a complete absence of all things, edging slowly outward like a disease.  

 

**_Stay here!_** Kravitz commands, and perhaps for the first time ever, not a single soul objects.  Kravitz rushes out of the Stockade, reverts to his human form and begins channeling the protection spell to keep the door locked shut.  

 

Something in the spell glitches like it hasn’t done in ages, since his infancy as a Reaper when tapping into lines of divine power was wild and unpredictable.  Kravitz looks at his hands in confusion, shakes them out, concentrates deeper, and why is this suddenly hard?  It shouldn’t be.  He’s done it thousands of times.   When he reaches toward the source of his magic, it’s always right there in his mind, but now it feels as if he’s stretching across a chasm to access that it.  

 

Kravitz can feel the moment it touches him, arcing like electricity along a tenuous cord, sinking back into him.   The protection spell is channeled with difficulty, and Kravitz doesn’t stop until he’s sure it’ll hold.

 

He feels drained when it’s complete, dissipates himself to the floor a moment to regather his concentration.  That deep, unknowable silence grows in his mind.

 

Without warning the silence is overlaid by a cacophony of screams.

 

Screams of fellow reapers sending out distress call after distress call cut through him in a open channel.  It’s horrible and terrifying and something is _killing_ them.  Voices sporadically are being severed from their source, gone like they were never there to begin with.

 

_**The Gate!**   _they cry out, **_Hold the Gate!_** and Kravitz re-gathers in skeletal form.  As soon as he feels the shape of the scythe in his palm, Kravitz bisects the air and carves a portal through to the Gate.

 

Chaos.  

 

Something jolts inside of him, runs rampant, and _oh_ this, he’d forgotten this feeling.  Fear for his own safety, his own existence, glimpsing an end and feeling the weight of what he stands to lose.  It paralyzes him for a moment, but just a moment.  

 

He watches reapers die, in every form, in every aspect, caught by the darkness and pulled inside of it.  The stream of souls through the Gate is gone.  It’s just gone.  Replaced by a caliginous film.

 

A column of dark matter slams down next to him, a jagged, twisting arm reaches out to snatch the recognizable orb of concentrated soulbound tissue, and pulls it into the pillar.  Kravitz floats backward, scythe twisting in front of him defensively, and he can feel rather than see, how this thing’s attention turns toward him.  

 

Kravitz debates rapidly which aspect to take.  There’s nothing here in the planar gap with which to form an elemental suit around him, no burner body to possess.  There’s far too little cover, and far too much vulnerability.  Dispersing himself into concentrated form is right out, he might be able to evade, but wouldn’t be able to defend himself or anyone else.  Skeletal is the most impervious, it’s just fucking bones after all, but lacks strength and ability.  The human form is easily damaged, true, but it doesn’t bleed and Kravitz has learned how to block the sense memory of pain.  When he calls for divine magic, it’s always easier to focus it through this vessel than any other.

 

Kravitz takes on his most familiar aspect, rolls his shoulders when he’s fully composed, and waits.

 

A body emerges from the column, the same striated, nebulous material, but shaped into something vaguely human.  It hurtles toward Kravitz.  He swings the scythe in a decisive slash across the figure, and it crumples in on itself and falls to the ground.  Three more emerge from pillar and Kravitz bares his teeth and steadies for the attack. 

 

They surround him at critical angles, one facing him, two flanking just behind Kravitz’s shoulders, and he’s suddenly grateful for the combat lessons given to him by resentful teachers.  

 

He tries to sense the souls in these creatures, just to understand what they are, and the fact that he perceives nothing, nothing at all, terrifies him.  

 

They attack all at once, gnarled hands grabbing and ready to tear Kravitz apart.  He goes low, twists away from the closing circle, and brings his scythe down into one of the figure’s back.  A regular humanoid would probably have been brought down by the hit, but this creature whirls on him, backhanding Kravitz to the ground, his weapon skittering away.  

 

Kravits holds his hand out and recalls it immediately, rolls out from under raised fists when the shadows close over him.

 

The ensuing battle is rough; Kravitz dodging and swinging and being beaten back.  One of the creatures rakes its talons across Kravitz’s left cheek, and in turn Kravitz decapitates it.  He keeps trying to summon up magic to shield himself, or ward them back, but it feels so far away, shaky and inaccessible.  He doesn’t have the time to concentrate and let it flow through him.  

 

He finally takes the last two figures down, and is instantly centering himself to draw up from that source.

 

Another figure charges out from the column, and with effort, Kravitz pulls power into his palm, lets it gather and coalesce until the last possible second, before turning it lose in a wrathful beam of radiant energy. It cuts through the charging figure, and Kravitz redirects the flow toward the column.  For a moment Kravitz fears it’s impenetrable, but he holds steady, funneling the flux of divine magic into the writhing darkness, and hears a crack. 

 

Then: Nothing.  

 

The radiant stream flickers, dissolves, and Kravitz doubles over, a strained cry leaving his throat.   He doesn’t have time to admit to himself what it means because from within the pillar some hideous sound pours out, inhuman and enraged.  The column explodes into bits.

 

Kravitz is thrown to the ground, flung far into a corner where he shields himself with his cloak and arm from the shrapnel falling in the wake.  When he looks up, the few reapers still left are catching on to what Kravitz already knows.  He sees them gazing in confusion at each other, hunched down trying to channel power from their divine source.  

 

But there’s nothing there.  Their Mother is gone.  

 

There’s a vacancy at the center of him where She ought to be, and Kravitz fixates on that void, unable to accept it’s truly there.  The broken bond sparks briefly, and Kravitz shapes himself around the dimmest impression of a connection.  It’s weak, voiceless, but it’s _there_.

 

They’re being picked off like flies.  Reapers are snatched up in their daze and hauled into the pitch, some don’t even fight the pull anymore.  The ones who fight are still being cut down and _no,_ Kravitz isn’t going to let his existence end this way.  Consumed and spat out by this interloper, cut off from his home and everyone he cares about.

 

Kravitz makes a break for the Gate, if there’s a chance this will work, even a little bit, he’s going to need to be where the fighting is densest to have the biggest payoff.  Creating a shortcut through a portal is out of the question with magic down, so he’s really just a guy running through the mayhem with a big stick and a sharp blade on the end of it.  He doesn’t have the spare seconds to allow the anxiety and indecision any quarter. 

 

Kravitz slices his path through the fray, taking and dealing damage with the same single-mindedness he would experience when conducting an orchestra into movement.  Hands move of their own accord, lashing out in instinct and necessity to bring resolution to the song.  Kravitz reaches the gate worse for wear, but determined to follow through.  No one has noticed his position yet, and Kravitz allows himself the half second of relief before sinking to the floor.  He grasps the Raven’s feathers in his pocket, places them on the ground and pauses.

 

**Whatever it is that makes a being without equal, whatever magic it is that shapes and casts and patterns a soul together, can not be appropriated by any force.** Those words have brought Kravitz comfort and meaning many times when he looked out into the world, into his own plane, and saw such hopelessness.  

 

“This is the worst plan,” Kravitz announces to no one and slams his hands down over the feathers, squeezes his eyes shut, focuses inward on that gaping wound and the tiny spark steadily dimming at the heart of it.  At first nothing, he reaches toward Her but She doesn’t reach back.  He doesn’t accept this and he reaches again.  Kravitz doesn’t seek Her through reverence, or prayer, or the thoughtless habit of it.  He focuses on the sort of power a mother and child have, the feeling of acceptance, nurturing, the wary exasperation and fathomless love, things Kravitz had always understood far better than cold, implicit worship.

 

And it is along that bond, that Kravitz feels Her.  It isn’t The Queen, as he knows her, not the Raven or the Veil, but the divine essence of a god.  Not meant to be tampered with or accessed in this way by any being at all.

 

Kravitz fucking channels it.

 

It jolts through him instantaneously, threatens to shake him from his precarious meditation in the middle of a war, but Kravitz pulls fiercely at that power.  Allows it build and build and build in the vacuity, intertwining throughout his soul.  It’s horrible, and wonderful, and excruciating.  He starts seeing flashes, broken images that weave across his consciousness.  

 

Kravitz’s childhood, the quiet house and distant mother.  His fingers picking out a clumsy melody.

 

Standing at the head of an orchestra, baton clutched in his palm, heart pounding in his chest.

 

The sunlight peaking between the branches of trees, casting shadows through his bedroom window that spread over his deathbed like a dozen broken arms. A raven perched outside his window.

 

Taako’s naked back washed in moonlight, looking over his shoulder, his eyes fixed on Kravitz.  A smile that speaks as well as words across his lips.

  
  


Kravitz realises with a sense of shock that this is his existence flashing before his eyes.

 

_Taako_ , he thinks, then winces when something knocks him back across the planar gap and crashes him against the Gate.  His sight returns and he scrambles to his hands and knees, struggling to keep the tide within him at bay a few more moments.

 

The darkness gathers closer, columns crashing down around him, and Kravitz is ready.

 

He wishes he could think of something vaguely ominous and memorable to say, especially if it’s the last thing he says.  But all that comes out is a weary sigh, then

 

“I just wanted to be a conductor.”

 

And Kravitz releases the entirety of raw, radiant god-energy; it explodes out of him like a dirty bomb, flooding the Gate and the planar gap in a supersonic blast of divine power.  It’s a feeling Kravitz has never known, one that transcends his knowledge of pain or loss, of triumph, something beyond feeling, or magic, detonating over and over and over until...nothing.

 

He knows nothing for a long time, has no thoughts, no sense.  

 

The idea that he must have been unmade, is what clues Kravitz into the fact that if he were, indeed, wiped from existence, he wouldn’t have any thoughts _at all_.  

 

It feels like it takes forever, his soul sent in a billion different directions, reconfiguring himself is a puzzle Kravitz doesn’t have the energy for.  But he keeps at it and keeps at it, until the pattern feels familiar, until he’s reformed into his concentrated state.

 

The silence, the darkness, it’s still there when Kravitz reaches out his perception, and it’s growing, reaching down into the planes and disconnecting them from one another.  He has to tell Taako.  Warn him before it’s too late.

 

Taking on his shape is an aching effort, but he can’t see properly in this form or speak actual words and if he’s going to get a message out to Taako then he has to pull it together.  It take several tries but Kravitz feels himself fill out.  

 

“Oh wow,” he says when his eyes open and Kravitz takes in the state of the planar gap.  There’s a discernible starburst pattern underneath him from the force of the explosion, but otherwise it looks… the same.  The same blank white space it always is, cleared of gleaming dark pillars of living hatred, and Kravitz would be relieved, but he still feels the same sinking feeling in his gut. 

 

He looks up, up to the where the stream of soul tissue should be, passing from the threshold of the ethereal plane, through gap, and into the astral plane.

 

The monster is there, a film marbled with flashes of colour, undulating like the cells of storm clouds overhead.  It doesn’t seem as active as it was before, but by no means does Kravitz want to try and poke it to find out.  He gets the impression that it’s perhaps experiencing some form of unconsciousness.  Kravitz checks his pockets for his stone of farspeech, isn’t surprised when it’s not there.  Probably blew up with anything else that wasn’t soulbound, so calling Taako is a moot option.  Portals are the same, the spells blessing the scythes with the ability disconnected at the source.  

 

Kravitz looks back up into the shadows and scrubs his hands over his face.  “This is bullshit,” he whispers to himself, aware of how whiny it sounds and not caring.  He dissolves into a condensed state and warily floats upward.  _And I was having such a good week_ , he thinks, pauses right before touching the slick and wonders if he’s making wise choices.  

  
  


It’s disgusting.  Both in the actual way where it feels like he’s wading through sticky tar, and in the not so describable way in which Kravitz feels like he’s being suffocated by malice and contempt and bone deep hunger.  The entity stirs around him, a prickle of awareness, and Kravitz pauses long enough to take human form.  Becomes something less bright and resonant, a little more _dead_ and less easily detected. He pushes forward toward the ethereal plane.  It’s harder now, navigating by propelling himself with arms and legs through the thick sludge, but he can sense the ethereal plane nearing him.

 

Breaking through the membrane seems impossible, Kravitz is trapped underneath, hands fruitless to tear a hole through to the surface.  He’s afraid to call his scythe, worried that a cut will be enough to disturb this entity out of its slumber and it will close around Kravitz once and for all.  

 

He has to hedge that bet.

 

Kravitz counts to himself, _one..two..three.._ calls his scythe into his palm, and jabs it upward through the surface.  He sees the greyscale bleeding through into the darkness and pulls himself up through it.

 

He gasps at the sudden expanse of clear space without the crush of animosity boxing him in on all sides, and gazes out across the surface.  

 

Kravitz had grown up near the Alamber sea, remembers the hypnotic sounds of water brushing up against the docks, how the sunlight would catch the surface of capping waves in an endless glittering array as far as Kravitz could see.  Beautiful and peaceful.

 

This is nothing like that. 

 

The ripples sent out across the surface tension of this malevolent sea seem sentient and brutal, and Kravitz knows it’s awake.  Something contracts around his body and holds him there, the ripples stop moving outward, and begin turning inward, back toward Kravitz. 

 

Fuck it, Kravitz thinks and starts clawing and slicing his way to escape.  He tries to keep his sights on the ethereal plane, tries not to notice how the ripples turn into waves, desperate to cover him and take him under.  Kravitz cuts through the breakers tirelessly, rising from beneath them, just for something below the surface to grab his ankle and sink him waist down.  He can’t change his aspect, tries to, but Kravitz’s body just blurs for a moment before reasserting itself.  An unfortunate consequence of exhaustion, getting stuck in one form, there are limits.

 

Kravitz’s mind keeps signalling pain, distress, but he ignores it, keeps fighting the undercurrent regardless of how hopeless it seems.

 

Without warning, the Ethereal Plane distorts, shivers and curls inward as the mouth begins to open. 

 

Kravitz doesn’t stop struggling, but he _does_ feel himself pull a piqued expression of dumbfoundment at the sight of Magnus Burnsides floating through the ethereal hall, being pulled toward the Gate.  _Did this poor man die AGAIN?_   Kravitz thinks to himself  as Magnus tries to find purchase, tries to dig his hands into the immaterial walls of the plane as he’s drawn relentlessly across greyspace.  Kravitz isn’t sure what sort of twist of fate this is supposed to be that they would meet at this exact moment in mirroring states of impending doom.  

 

Kravitz wonders uneasily where the others must be if this is happening to Magnus.  Who is protecting _Taako_?  Taako is a gifted wizard, but his body isn’t constructed for physical combat and magic is no good if you’re beaten so badly that channeling it becomes an impossibility.  

 

Magnus recognizes Kravitz after a moment, his handsomely rugged face a mismatch of emotions as he notices Kravitz’s position wrestling through the muck.  He raises a thick brow like he finds it a bit strange, but isn’t particularly startled by it.  This only serves to make Kravitz even more worried, because if the sight of a Reaper actively having his ass kicked by a massive amorphous blob of darkness at the cusp of the astral plane, then what the hell is happening out _there?_

  
  


The prickle of anxiety lurches violently into full-blown panic when Taako appears.

 

He’s but a few metres away from Magnus, single-minded determination painted across his lovely face, and he _looks_ fine, but that means absolutely nothing since injury does not follow you from the prime material plane.  It’s hard to tell if his spirit is also being funneled through to the astral plane, or if he’s Blinked there purposefully.  Kravitz tries to call out a warning to him, struggles furiously against the tide to no avail as he watches them glide across the great hall.  

 

Impossibly, amazingly, Kravitz sees the moment their souls touch, watches in elation and pride as Taako grasps Magnus’ outstretched hand, snatches his arms around Magnus’ shoulders, and in a great heave, wrenches them backward toward safety.  

 

Taako spots Kravitz from over Magnus’ shoulder and Kravitz’s heart swells and breaks terribly, concurrently, as he watches Taako’s triumphant smile fall from his lips and horror seize in his eyes. 

 

Something latches onto Kravitz’s waist and pulls him under.

 

When he resurfaces for the final time, Taako is gone, and Kravitz is grateful for it.

  
  


Kravitz allows himself to sink down, goes still, stretches out his perception as far as it will allow  Waits.  All he needs is a moment, one second in which this entity is distracted, thinking it has won.

 

He feels it happen, the shift in attention when the abomination takes mirth in preparing to end him.  And Kravitz knows in that moment, that this nightmarish amalgamation of emptiness and apathy and bottomless contempt, has never known what it is to _hope_ or love.  Boundlessly and with ferocity.

 

Kravitz’s fingers tighten around his scythe and he focuses that sense of hope, of divine purpose, and so much longing, it rises like a wellspring from within him.  And he fights for it.

  
  


\---

  
  


Kravitz stares down at the circle of raven’s feathers on the stone floor of the Stockade, touches a hollow quill to adjust its angle, narrowly resists the urge to attempt another communication.  She is simply not there, no matter how hard he searches inward to find that flicker of their bond. Kravitz feels more alone than he’s ever been.  Orphaned. 

 

He has existed so long with the link tied inextricably into his soul, the sudden dissolution makes Kravitz feel wounded and raw.

 

Kravitz misses his Mother.

 

He misses Taako.

 

And there’s nowhere to go.  No way to help either of them.  The dimensional bonds have been severed from one another, trapping whatever beings existed within them, holding them fast to the plane.  Kravitz feels it with every fiber of his soul, can sense the loss of equilibrium and knows what it means.

 

Kravitz cries just a little, allows himself a few minutes where he grieves such tremendous loss.  He’s frustrated and anxious as hell, caught in a trap.  And profoundly sad beyond his knowledge of the emotion as he knew it.  He thinks of Taako, desperately hoping he’s somewhere safe and surrounded by friends.  And even though it’s a mortal thing to want, Kravitz wishes for more time.  Wishes he would have made realizations earlier, and told Taako things about the way he makes Kravitz feel.  He hadn’t known what is was to want these things before Taako.  He wishes there was a way to explain with words how even after death, that love can alter the fabric of a soul.

 

Legion gathers together in the corner of the room, slowly creeping toward him.   On a normal day he’d never allow that to even _remotely_ happen, too dangerous, but this day is different.  They’re all afraid. They’re all here together, gathered behind a door that can’t hold forever as the protection spell degrades, they’re all facing the same cataclysm by a common enemy.

 

Kravitz sniffs, wipes his eyes and beckons them over with a wave of his hand.  Legion hurries across the Stockade, curls itself loosely around Kravitz, seeking comfort the way they rarely will.

 

“No funny business though,” Kravitz tells them, voice still thick with emotion.  “I’m still your guardian.  I expect you to behave, apocalypse or no.”

 

The souls curl closer in acknowledgement of this strange, improbable armistice, settling against Kravitz and whispering to him their fears, their plans, regrets; some of which sound familiar and others not so much, but Kravitz listens to them all.

 

Abruptly it stops, everything.  The whispers and the faint sounds of the Darkness trying to break through the Stockade’s door, and Kravitz holds in that stillness, feels something critical welling up like an epiphany and--

 

Music: A symphony of determination and sadness, grief and joy, of love that goes beyond time and grows stronger, spreads farther, in spite of the violence.  A story pours through Kravitz’s consciousness and _Taako._ Taako is there as the story unfolds, and a twin sister who Taako has never spoken about, and Kravitz has never seen record of.  They stand back to back, run hand in hand, beautiful and wild.  

 

Kravitz is told of a terrible darkness. A Hunger.  It descends again and again and again, consuming planes and appropriating it’s inhabitants, or simply ravaging them of life.    

 

But Taako is there each time with his friends, Merle, Magnus, his sister Lup.  There are others who Kravitz is less familiar with, have heard their names, some in passing, but never imagined _this_.  Lucretia. Barry. Davenport. A family. 

 

He listens, his heart-breaking, as Taako dies  Listens to the aching details as he jumps in the way of a soaring blade meant for his sister’s back.  He listens to him bleed out there on an unfamiliar, dusty planet. Listens to the story where Taako is turned to stone; how the Hunger takes the life of three of his crew, and Taako rises in a whirlwind, magic coursing in gleaming blue ropes over his body, before casting a spell so powerful and absolute, that when it’s finished Taako’s just...gone.

 

But Kravitz also hears a tale of beauty.  Incredible worlds, cultures and creatures beyond imagination.  He feels love.  Taako with tears silently streaming down his cheeks as he stands over Magnus’s body in a green forest. A dozen different nights and a hundred mornings of simple meals spent laughing together.  Holding on to one another.  Sacrificing endlessly, loving unconditionally, and there’s more, so much _more._

 

And then it stops.  The song ends.

 

Kravitz breathes hard at the sudden oppressive silence.  Legion shivers around him, and they too, have heard the call.

 

The faint pounding against the door comes back too, louder, louder, gradually breaking through the shock.

 

Kravitz’s fingernails scratch convulsively against the floor, teeth gritting together as he feels his connection to the Stockade’s protection spell disect painfully.  The pounding is now joined by shrill grating, like claws being drawn across slate.  Their fortress shakes.

 

Kravitz sets his jaw, pushes up against the wall and stands in the center of inner sanctum.  He grips his scythe, and addresses Legion.

 

“I won’t pretend to understand what just happened, or what might happen next, or how Fate has led us into this moment.  But I do know that darkness out there, the Hunger, it is an affront to existence, to the balance, to all of it, everything.  And it’s coming for us.   Everything you’ve ever known or loved, whatever life you came from, whatever ties you have left to the world.”  Kravitz pauses.  He never liked giving speeches.  Isn’t sure how best to motivate a entity made of thousands of typically hostile souls into a battle over their existence.  “I wasn’t a warrior, I’ve never lead anyone into battle, and no one would have chosen me to be the one to guide you now.  But together we can--”

 

The whole Stockade shakes, and Kravitz whirls toward the door, expecting the Hunger to come pouring through.  After several moments in which Kravitz has at least twenty separate panic attacks, nothing comes.

 

He clears his throat, “What was I saying?”

 

Legion rumbles.

 

“That’s right, thank you.  Together we can--”

 

Kravitz gasps, head tipping back, fingers tightening on his scythe as divine light floods into him, stitches itself back into the fabric of his soul, reseals the gaping wound at his core where a bond should be and everything stops, freezes in time as the Veil surrounds him.

 

**Kravitz.**

 

Kravitz can barely form words from his relief, he’s aware he’s choking up again and doesn’t care.  “I thought,” he croaks, “I thought you were gone.  I thought everything--”

 

A Raven flies out from the Veil and Kravitz holds out his hand to Her.  She lands on his palm and Kravitz brings Her close as She bumps against his forehead, picks at his locs, nestles a feather into his hair tie.  

 

“How are you _here_ ,” he sniffs, takes a deep, steady breath.  “The planes were separated, I couldn’t reach you.”

 

**You must go now, leave the Stockade and what is beyond those doors to me,** She says, voice more gentle than he’s accustomed to, **Very powerful, your elf.  I believe he was looking for you and incidentally reconnected the planar system in the process.  I approve of your choices.**

 

Kravitz feels a swell of sweetness amid the relief and the joy.  There’s a tug in his chest and the Raven flies back into the Veil as it lifts.

 

B **e safe, my child** , She whispers. 

 

Kravitz feels the ground tremble again.

 

His soul stretches.

 

The world turns blue.

 

\------

  
  


They’ve kept just to the outskirts of towns, buffeting the onslaught as best they can.  Legion can focus better this way, without all the obvious temptations of the the material plane surrounding them.  Kravitz is just as deeply embedded in the fray.  He casts and slashes alongside them, shepherding them through portals. 

 

For a moment he thinks he might be finished, a massive serpent made of opalescent pitch strikes Kravitz down to the earth, wraps around him, coiling over his hands and mouth so he can’t invoke power.  Legion sees this, roars furiously, shaping themselves into something scalpel-like and precise, they plummet downward, quartering the snake.  They pull back to Kravitz, swirling around him, bearing him upward, insulating him from the Hunger while Kravitz reforms his crushed bones.

 

The longer the battle stretches out, the more invigorated Kravitz feels by the reconstitution of his divine bond and only slightly anxious over a blurted admission of love.  Taako is somewhere out there, far above him, fighting this same fight.  Kravitz worries terribly for him, but also Kravitz is so very _very_ proud of Taako.

  
  


Kravitz knows something huge has happened because he can feel it within himself when it does, feels that all-consuming silence that has been expanding in the corner of his mind since this all began, being beaten back.  Legion must feel it too, because they engage a massive sheet of Hunger, swarming it like locusts to a field and shredding it in seconds.  A white column of light bursts upward into the heavens.

  
  


“Is it over?” Kravitz asks when they’ve gone through several portals across the material plane checking, and finding no trace of Hunger.  “I believe we’re done here,” disbelief tints his voice, and god, he can’t wait to find Taako.  “Incredible,” he breathes.

 

He allows the souls a few moments of celebration, to say goodbye to a world they must depart from once and for all.  “We can return now,” Kravitz says gently, “Thank you, you’ve done so well.”

 

Legion gathers toward him, surrounding him with their triumphant whispers, asking Kravitz to guide them home.

 

\---

  
  


Taako leaps into his arms the second he spots Kravitz stepping out of his portal.  He sprints past everyone, cuts through the crowd surrounding him in the Bureau of Balance conference hall.  Kravitz catches him, holds him fast to his chest as Taako’s fingers grip tight into Kravitz’s cloak.  He doesn’t speak, only pulls away to fist his hands in the front of Kravitz’s shirt and brings their foreheads together for several long seconds.  He breathes.  In and out. In and out.  The most beautiful and precious sound Kravitz has ever heard.

 

\---

  
  


Taako seems wired, his eyes shining as he speaks to his sister.  He gesticulates erratically, indicating the sky, the ground, the great expanse between.  Kravitz watches quietly, leaning his back against the wall next to Magnus, as far from Taako’s sister as possible.  It has nothing to do with her as person, how could Kravitz possibly find any hatred for this woman who even through a phantasmal shroud, is so very much like Taako.  It’s just… Lich magic makes him intrinsically uncomfortable, a sensation similar to pain, an aversion inscribed in Kravitz’s composition as a being.  It’s how he’s able to hunt a lich in the first place, can sense when they are nearby.  He’s overjoyed for Taako, but would just prefer to avoid the anxiety response after the battle they all have endured.  Kravitz is content to simply watch him, to witness his joy in reuniting with a family he’d all but lost.

  
  


Magnus nudges him, “He’s getting tired.”

 

Kravitz watches Taako levitate up to Lup’s level where she hovers above the table, they titter excitedly to one another in an unfamiliar language.  “I’m not so sure.”  Kravitz smiles, admiring the way Taako’s spidery fingers reach down to Merle for help landing.  

 

“For real, he gets kinda manic right before a crash.  See? His eye is getting a _liiittlle_ bit twitchy.  That elf is running off fumes.”

 

Kravitz looks at Magnus, follows his concerned gaze back to Taako, and feels a prickle of insecurity.  

 

“You’ll always know him just a little bit better than I will, I think,” Kravitz murmurs, thinking back to their stories aboard the Starblaster, and they journey they made. The formative years that bonded them inseparably to the point that Taako, Magnus and Merle were still drawn together even after their memories were lost.

 

Magnus seems to consider this and shakes his head, “I don’t think so.  Even after all this time, that’s still a tough egg to crack.”  His eyes travel over Taako, and when Magnus speaks his voice is brimming with respect and awe and so much fondness. “You should have seen him up there though.  He’s pretty amazing.”

 

“He is,” Kravitz says, looks away from Magnus to gaze at Taako.  “He really is.”

 

As if on cue, Taako sways on his feet, barely catching himself on the lip of the table.  Both Kravitz and Magnus push their backs from the wall and are beside him in an instant, catching him under the arms.

 

Lup swoops down over him, hesitant to touch him directly with her hands.  She settles for picking up the loose end of his plait and fanning him with it as Taako shakes his head a bit in disorientation.  

 

“Aw broseph… I’d carry you to bed myself, but these hands aren’t exactly coated in good ol’ TLC, you know what I mean.”  She looks at Kravitz, says in a tone of voice expressing both protectiveness and concession, “Make sure he gets in bed, okay?”

 

“I’m good, lets party,” Taako smiles weakly, he holds his hands over a stack of books.  “Hold up, lemme transmute this garbo into coffee real quick. Chug, chug.”

 

Kravitz watches Taako’s hands tremble and gently grasps them between his own.  “Taako, I think she’s right.  You need to rest.”

 

Taako says, “Naw,” and leans heavily against Kravitz.

 

Kravitz gets Taako’s arm across his shoulders, bends a little to grasp him under his knees, and hoists Taako into his arms.  Taako doesn’t fight it at all, resting his head against Kravitz’s collar.

 

“Sure you don’t mind, Lup?” Taako asks, “I can rally.”

 

“Catch those Z’s son,” she tells him , “We can party later. I’ll have Barold keeping me company after all you wusses pass out, won’t I babe?” She gestures back toward the spectacled man in the corner who has no idea how close he came to being one of Kravitz’s bounties.  

 

Barry gives a small wave, then narrows his eyes at Kravitz.  He summons a small, neon green ball of necromantic energy into his palm after Lup has turned her back.  He gives Kravitz vaguely threatening look, his eyes flicking meaningfully between Lup, Taako, back to Kravitz, before extinguishing it in his fist.  Kravitz thinks perhaps he’s come into contact with some of the more volatile reapers during his time on this plane, furrows his brow and slowly looks away.

 

Taako turns his face from Kravitz’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I only fed you old magic dudes and channeled spells from my ass through the umbrastaff that one time.”

 

Lup makes an odd choked up sound.  “It’s exactly what I would have done.”

 

“I missed you,” Taako says, voice breaking a little, “I couldn’t even remember your name, but I missed you. I thought I was alone. All those years, I thought it was just me..”

 

She shushes him soothingly, and Kravitz realises everyone else in the room has gone silent, averting their eyes to give the twins a moment of privacy.  “I’m here now.  I’ll never leave you again.  Not ever.”  She murmurs something in that strange language and Taako says it back, his hand stretches toward her. 

 

“You’re still the pretty one,” he tells her. Their fingertips graze.

 

\---

  
  


Kravitz can feel Taako growing heavier by the moment.  Not in the sense of physical weight, Taako is slight, easily handled, and it’s nothing at all to bear him through the corridors to his quarters.  But it’s something more intangible, something inside him building to a critical mass.  He hasn’t fallen asleep, Kravitz can tell by his breathing; shaky, too measured.

 

Kravitz unclips the lanyard dangling from one of Taako’s component pouches and slides it over the lockpad, carrying Taako over the threshold and inside..  He feels Taako’s body twitch, an indication he might want to stand, so Kravitz sets him down, brushes the hair from his eyes and holds Taako’s face in his hands.

 

“Are you okay?” he asks, concerned because even though Taako’s eyes seem to dart everywhere in a panic, his posture is rigid.  “Taako..” Kravitz whispers, worriedly searching his face for any indication of what he needs.

 

“I’m okay,” Taako says, voice even, gaze fixed elsewhere.  “I’m okay,” he says again, and this time the words quiver dangerously. “I’m okay,” his eyes well up with tears and he keeps repeating it over and over like he’s convincing himself of it.  “I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.”  Tears spill down his cheeks, and he trembles violently. 

 

Something inside Kravitz wrenches, “Oh no, no no no, _Taako_ ,” and he pets helplessly at Taako’s hair, over his shoulders.  He hugs him tight to his chest as the words dissolve into heavy sobs, drug up from some deep place within his chest where relief and sadness and grief, joy, love, all of it, _everything_ , grew together.  Around one another, reticulated and smothered for too long.

 

Kravitz can feel him buckling, and he goes down with Taako, gathering him onto his lap and rocking him there on the floor.  He doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t know if there is anything _to_ say, maybe the best thing Kravitz can do is just be here with him in this overwhelming moment.  He presses his lips to the top of Taako’s head, cradles him as best he can while Taako shudders miserably in his arms for what feels like forever.

  
  


He has experienced similar breakthroughs with souls before, particularly ones who had turned from their natural path in order to find vengeance for a loved one.  Giving up that quest requires a tremendous emotional upheaval.  Kravitz could find words for those moments, had done before.

 

But this.  There are no words for this.  Taako has been through so much, has had countless memories restored, traumas and triumphs reopened all at once.  What do you say to someone who lost their home planet, journeyed through time and planes, died, watched planets die, watched their family die again and again, made impossible choices, suffered under the weight of responsibility, lost their sister only to have the memory of it erased, and have the lack closure follow him through a decade of loneliness.  Then gained those memories _back,_ only to mourn her all over again, but also find her, just not in the same way he’d remembered.  And saved the _universe?_

 

Kravitz can’t begin to understand the white-hot storm pushing its way out of a vessel that does not easily give, and what it must be costing Taako.  So Kravitz just holds him there on the floor; holds him after the shaking turns to tiny tremors, and the sobs ease off into noiselessness.

 

\---

  
  


Taako seems dissociated as Kravitz peels him out of his clothes, bedraggled and stained from the fight, the celebration, wet from tears.  He places them into the laundry receptacle and helps Taako into the bath he’d run.  Steam licks at Taako’s skin as he sits, pulls his knees up to his chest and clasps his arms around them.  His expression is blank in spite of the tears that still spill silently down his cheeks, drips _pat pat pat_ into the bathwater.  

 

Kravitz doesn’t say anything, doesn’t want to risk triggering another swell of uncontrollable heartache.  He takes a fresh washcloth and wets it, coating it with soap until it’s frothed with bubbles, gently sets it to Taako’s skin and begins washing all signs of grime and blood.  Taako doesn’t even flinch when Kravitz must wash gravel that’s been abraded into a wound on his elbow.  

 

With his concentration dismantling the glamour, Kravitz can get a better glimpse of what he’d been trying to conceal underneath it. Taako is still undeniably the most beautiful person Kravitz has even seen, and Kravitz would adore him no matter Taako’s appearance.  But Kravitz sees things now that weren’t there before, and what he sees makes him feel heavy in his chest.

 

Scars creep across the expanse of Taako’s back.  Someone took a hand to him, just there.  Kravitz feels fury rise in his throat.  A few appear to have been caused by some physical weapon, but there are others that seem burned onto him, a sure sign of contact with harmful spells.  Most of these are marks from another, harder life, faded by new skin covering up old wounds. But others are fresher, barely healed over; like a healing spell had been cast, but only partially took, just enough to close the injury.  Kravitz frowns and traces the angry path of a scar with a finger where it wraps over Taako’s shoulder like a lightning bolt.

 

“Don’t.”  The sound of Taako’s voice cutting through the silence makes Kravitz flinch.  “Just.. don’t.” He’s still looking forward into nothingness, his face unreadable.

 

“I’m sorry,” Kravitz murmurs, meaning sorry for all of it, for his hands on him, and the sacrifices Taako made to get here; for the love, the sorrow, and the price with which it came.  

 

\---

  
  


Kravitz redresses Taako in something that looks soft and warm, helps him lie down in the bed and tucks the blankets over him.  He kisses his forehead and turns to switch off the light.

 

“Stay,” Taako says, “at least until I fall asleep?”  Kravitz pauses with his hand on the doorknob.  “Please.”

 

“Of course,” he could no more deny Taako in this moment, than dismantle the fabric of his own soul.  He toes off his shoes by the door, and climbs onto the bed alongside Taako, sure to keep atop the sheets so Taako can stay warm under the covers.  

 

Taako turns toward him after several moments, his cheek resting on the top of his hand.  “What happens next,” he whispers, bewildered.  “What do we do now.  Why do I feel like this? How am I supposed to feel?”

 

Kravitz lays his downturned palm next to Taako’s, slides it toward him until the outlines of their fingers touch and says, “I don’t know.”

 

\---

  
  


**You’ve come to negotiate the fate of Taako’s lich sister and her husband,** She says without preamble.  **I hear you rehearsing it in your head.  Always so prepared.**

 

Kravitz turns to the flux of the Veil and fixes Her with what he hopes is an exasperated look, if it weren’t for the anxiety.

 

She laughs.  **I see, go on then.**

 

“Thank you,” Kravitz says, “I was thinking of solutions--”

 

**Yes,** she interrupts, **I accept this arrangement.**

 

Kravitz throws his hands out, lets them flop back by his sides, and sighs. “I had a whole speech.”

 

**I know it all.  I know she is in violation of the laws that govern our plane.  I know she and her mate are an affront to the natural order, and the balance of existence.  I know the affairs of mortals, no matter how remarkable, are of no consequence to Me.**

 

Kravitz looks down, “Yes, you’re right, but--”

 

**But I also know that you could not bear to take from your elf that which has just been returned to him, after everything he has endured.  And I could not bear your sadness.  Every being in this realm, every creature wandering _every_ plane, owe a debt that cannot be repaid easily.  I lost many sons and daughters in the Hunger’s culling, and much of what was left decided to pass on into the Collective.  Your solution is both merciful, and equitable.  I will bind these liches to my Veil if they accept this responsibility.  The alternative, of course, is not quite so kind.**

  
  


“Thank you, and I don’t think it’s going to be a problem.”  Although Kravitz has the distinct suspicion that training and preparing these liches is going to be challenging to his own naturally frazzled constitution.  He’s more than willing to test the limits of his occasional neurosis if it means keeping this one worry from Taako’s mind.

  
  


**You should go to him,** She says, sweeping up his cloak in a mistral and placing it around Kravitz’s shoulders.  **The list of those who love you grows by the day.  Soon you won’t need me.  Who will play their songs for me, then.**

 

Kravitz smiles at Her and shakes his head, reaches a hand toward the shadows and lets them twist around him in a disembodied embrace.  

 

“You know that isn’t true, don’t you?  You’re my Mother,” the only one Kravitz has ever been allowed to know, who has given freely of Herself where his birth mother could not.  “I’ll always need you.”

 

\---

  
  


Kravitz opens a portal into Taako’s quarters.  He expects there to be at least one or two people there, as it had been when he’d left early this morning, but the common room is empty.  There’s a note stuck to the coffee press, the handwriting similar to Taako’s, if not a bit messier.

 

_ Captain and Lucretia called a debriefing.  Magnus crashed before it even started so we left him sleeping in the conference room and went down to the tavern instead.  If you wake up, come have a drink and watch Barry crush it at Orc Folk Songs karaoke night bbbbeeeyyyaattchhhhh! _

 

_ Love, _

_ Lup _

 

_ P.s. Merle says to talk to his ferns before you go anywhere, and that you should know what that means.  Like it’s a fucking secret. Ya’ll nasty. Sleep tight. _

 

Kravitz huffs a quiet laugh, and starts walking toward Taako’s bedroom door.  Keep his footfalls light so as not to make a sound. Taako only meditates four hours at a time, but it was going on twelve hours when Kravitz took his leave.  While Taako doesn’t necessarily require sleep either, he will do so if it suits him.  As exhausted as he had been, Kravitz wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually still curled up in a tiny ball under all those blankets.

 

He stumbles over his own feet in a decidedly gawky display when another door opens, and in a billow of steam Taako emerges from the washroom.  His hair is wrapped up in a towel on top of his head, a robe draped over his body, and he smiles brightly at Kravitz, a beautiful genuine thing, before red rises high in his cheeks and the smile falls away.  

 

He’s embarrassed, Kravitz thinks, and blurts, “When I was nine I was attacked by a swan.”

 

Taako blinks, “Uh, what?”

 

Kravitz clears his throat and tries to articulate it better.  “It was at school, in front of all my classmates.  There was a fish pond outside that I’d sit by during lunch.  One day I was out there eating, and out of a nowhere a swan dove at me from behind.  Knocked me right into the water and attached herself to my head, wings flapping like mad.  Right there in front of everyone.  I came out of the pond smelling like fish, swan feathers all over me.”

 

Taako sucks in his lips and looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh either.  Instead he says slowly, “Alright, and you’re telling me this story for…?”

 

“I was humiliated,” Kravitz says, “at the time.  Everyone was laughing, staring at me.  Except for my closest friends, they just wanted to make sure I was okay.  It didn’t matter to them what they’d seen, or how foolish I thought I looked.”  Kravitz adds after a beat, “Although in retrospect it was definitely comical.  Time has a way of bringing lightness to some predicaments.”  Another beat.  “Also, I love you.”

 

Taako gives him a funny look and says, “Let’s go somewhere.”

 

\---

  
  


Kravitz brings Taako to Asanibis, to the village where he’d grown up, resting in the countryside below the Dragonsword Mountains.

 

“The Alamber sea is that way,” Kravitz explains, pointing his scythe to the east, “and that’s where the Dragonborn live,” he gestures up toward the mountain range.

 

“Where did _you_ live?” Taako asks, crouching to run his palm over the barley grass.

 

Kravitz sighs and gazes down at him.  “Right here,” he says, “Exactly where we’re standing now.”

 

Taako furrows his brow, “What happened?” and he sets both hands to the earth like he might glean the answer from it.

 

“Erosion, storms, raids,” he shrugs, “Time, Taako, it wears on foundations just as easily as flesh.  I came back one day and it was gone.”

 

“Oh,” Taako stands up and threads his fingers through Kravitz’s, “That’s kind of bumming me out if I’m honest.”

 

“Don’t think of it that way,” Kravitz replies and arcs his scythe through the air.

  
  


\---

 

Taako wades in the waters of the Alamber sea, the waves lapping over his back like a tongue, his face tipped up toward daylight.

 

Kravitz takes him through the village market, and for all the shops that are still open, just as many are empty or destroyed, some still smoldering from the recent battle.  He watches fondly as Taako sorts through the fragrant spices, and soft linens not easily found in western Faerun.  The shopkeepers of course recognize him immediately and want to gift him generous portions of their goods for their gratitude, but Taako insists on paying.

 

They go to the music hall where Kravitz had spent the majority of his life, and it’s here Kravitz does feel a sense of relief at finding it undisturbed by the Hunger’s wrath. It’s changed since Kravitz last felt compelled to come here, modernized in many ways, but the classic architecture is the same; the vaulted acoustic ceiling, the vibrant tessellations on the walls.  Kravitz once thought of this place as a shelter, resonant and wholesome in comparison to the muted asepticility of his own home.

 

Taako sprints up on stage, does a quick twirl before flourishing into a bow and grinning down at Kravitz.

 

“So this is where the magic happened, huh,” Taako says, straightening his spine and walking across the stage toward the grand piano.  He runs his fingertips across the keyboard before picking out a few discordant notes, sits on the bench and motions for Kravitz to join him there.  “Play me a song, handsome.”

 

Kravitz settles next to Taako, shakes tension out of his wrists before positioning his hands.  “What do you want to hear?”

 

“Anything,” Taako says, “Something pretty.”

 

“That narrows it down,” Kravitz drawls, but his fingers fall to the keys, running a scale before settling into a familiar rhythm.  The piece takes flight, every note ringing bright and distinct, a bittersweet melancholy building into grandeur before subsiding into something more mellifluous, colored by darker harmonies.

 

His fingers fumble a note, a flat breaking through the undulating texture of the music when Kravitz feels a hand creeping up the inseam of his trousers.  He manages to keep playing, but turns his face toward Taako, a brow raised in question.

 

Taako blushes, shrugs and says simply, “That’s hot.”

 

“Really?”  Kravitz flourishes a passage just to show off.  “This is doing it for you?”

 

_“Yuh,”_ Taako admits, his flush deepening, and he presses a kiss against the thin skin behind Kravitz’s ear. “What do you say we take this back to my room.”

 

Kravitz bites his lip, makes himself say, “Your family will want to see you.”

 

“They will,” Taako murmurs, “Afterward.”  The hand between Kravitz’s legs travels higher, the heel of Taako’s palm rubs over where Kravitz’s cock has taken a noticeable interest in this plan.   Kravitz hopes no one is out there in the rafters watching.  Taako seems to have no such concerns because within a second he’s swinging his leg across Kravitz and landing in his lap, arms thrown around his shoulders and he’s kissing Kravitz like his life depends on it.  Kravitz’s finger skid across the keys before abandoning them all together in favor of twisting the fabric of Taako’s tunic in his fists.

 

“T-Taako,” Kravitz’s voice not a thing but air, muffled and strained against Taako’s lips.  “We should really..  This isn’t exactly comfortable..”

 

“I’ve got magic, no one will walk in.  We can do it fast.” His hips twitch forward, and Kravitz feels his fingers tighten around Taako’s ribs. “You know what, next time, yeah later, need more room,” mostly to himself, then, “Get us out of here.”

 

\---

  
  


They’re on each other as soon as the portal closes, Taako barely firing off a sound barrier over the room before it dissolves into lips and zips, seams protesting in their haste, and Taako knocking Kravitz down onto the bed with a bump and falling down over him.  

 

There’s something different about this time, in every firm press of their hands, Taako’s fingernails scraping hard against Kravitz biceps, kisses that bite, and the ragged breaths between them when one of them moves to change the angle.  Kravitz pulls Taako’s hair in his fist and holds him still in a quivering arch as he fingers him open, his eyes everywhere Taako is.  

 

There’s a roughness here that wasn’t there before, something deep and needy, but utterly without violence.  Kravitz feels it too, a heady mix of urgency that runs incongruent to relief, but still meeting in the same place.  Perhaps it’s the recent near death experience, or the reprieve that follows victory, or the sudden need to express something that can’t be said in words.  To hold tight and leave a mark, to be safe, to be known, to feel _alive_. Perhaps it is all of it, or none of it, fueling this inexplicable desperation clawing its way through them.

 

The moment Taako deems himself ready, he turns onto his front, flat on his front, and Kravitz is _there,_ working his way inside of him in a way that seem painfully slow in comparison to escalation that led them here.  Taako gasps when he feels Kravitz bottom out and immediately tries rocking back onto him, but Kravitz leans his weight into the hold.  Here is where he pauses, stays still, ear pressed to Taako’s back where he can make out the sound of his heart, beating against all odds and in spite of himself.  

 

Taako whines, and Kravitz pulses his hips slowly, barely, retreating and returning by mere centimetres as he kisses over fine bones, smooth skin.

 

“Take it down,” Kravitz says against Taako’s shoulder blade.  “Let me see you.”

 

He feels Taako stiffen slightly when he realizes what is being asked of him, and Kravitz pets soothingly over his flanks, down his chest.  

 

“I don’t…”

 

“Please,” Kravitz murmurs, and after a moment he can feel the illusion dissipate.  He traces an old, silvered scar low on Taako’s hip, kisses the starburst pattern under his left shoulder.  “Thank you,” he says, and thrusts into him.

It builds fast and resolute between them, one of Kravitz’s hands finding their way from Taako’s hip, to between his shoulder blades, the back of his head where it fits perfectly into Kravitz’s palm.  Taako, not normally too loud, lets loose his voice; devastated moans, high whines, Kravitz’s name shaking all the way out of throat over and over again until it almost undoes Kravitz to hear it.

 

Kravitz knows Taako’s body better now than the first time this ever happened.  Knows what sounds he makes when he wants gentle fingers trailing over his ribs, or hands twisted up in his hair; knows when Taako wants it slow and sweet, or when he needs rough, deep pounding to satisfy an aching need.

 

He also knows that right before Taako comes, he starts shaking, trembling around Kravitz’s dick, under his hands, and holds his breath for the space of four seconds.  Kravitz knows this because at first it worried him, the not breathing, and he’d counted the moments.  

 

Taako starts shivering, and Kravitz inhales at that, knowing what will follow if he can do this well enough, desperately wanting to see the blissed out, hazy look in Taako’s eyes afterward.  Taako makes a tight sound when Kravitz moulds himself over his back, depressing him completely flat onto the bed so that every hard thrust inside of him frots Taako against the sheets.  

 

“You’re incredible,” Kravitz says breathlessly into his ear.  “God, you’re so beautiful, Taako.”

 

Taako’s ears twitch, his body practically vibrating against Kravitz’s skin, and he sucks in a deep breath. 

 

_One._ Taako’s left hand fumbles backward, grabbing Kravitz’s thigh.

 

_Two._   Kravitz sets his teeth to the base of Taako’s neck, just barely biting down.

 

_Three_. Taako judders and pushes down frantically against the bed.

 

_Four._   Kravitz hips give one last sharp snap and then _yes,_ there, Taako’s chokes on air and sound, the instrument of his voice issuing each vibrant note as the pleasure crests and tension breaks.

 

He’s still coming down from it when Kravitz realises, with a vague sense of surprise, that he’s at the threshold as well. He lifts himself off of Taako’s back, picks him up him by the hips, quickly shoves inside him four, five, six, times, and those pressured strings pull taut and turn loose.  When Kravitz comes it feels like a fever breaking, like having long-abandoned veins pumped full of gossamer threads of ecstasy that spiral up and up, hollowing him out and remaking him again.

 

\---

  
  


“You should really find the others,” Kravitz murmurs into Taako’s hair.

 

“In a minute,” Taako says, drawing and idle finger down his chest.  “I’m still basking, alright?  Besides,” he rolls onto his stomach, chin resting on the heel of his palm, “Once I go out there everything is going to be different.”

 

“You are different,” Kravitz says, “There’s more to you now.  What’s wrong with that?”

 

“Everyone knows everything, _everyone_.  I mean, fame doesn’t bother me, I love it, but _holy shit_ savior of the planar system, slash, universe? That’s like… little-kids-look-up-to-you level of responsibility.  Action figure material.”

 

“You’re a hero,” Kravitz says softly, smiling.  Taako fixes him with a dirty look.  “You are, though.”

 

“I’m in this universe, I’m a part of it,” Taako says grumpily, “Of course I helped save it.  I wasn’t going to let a shitty _vore_ plane wreck my shop. Gross.”

 

Kravitz laughs at him, tucks a piece of hair behind his ear, says again, “Right, like I said, you’re a hero.”

 

Taako tries setting his lips in a hard line, ears leveled back, but soon a grin takes the corner of his mouth.  He huffs and hides a smile behind his hand. “Fourteen percent hero, _maybe_ , I wasn’t the only one.”

 

“Sure,” Kravitz relents with a chuckle and runs a hand over the mapping of Taako’s back.  “Where’s this from,” he asks gently, tracing a jagged mark.

 

“Wonderland,” he says, then snorts derisively, “some evil liches made a  washing machine fall on top of me.  Merle tried to patch me up but it wasn’t allowed.”

 

Kravitz nods, makes a mental note to ask for their names so he can spare himself the conflict of interest when Stockade assignments are redistributed.   “And here?”

 

Taako looks over his shoulder.  “Took a magic missile to it during our year on a hostile plane.”  Kravitz kisses over the scar and Taako shivers.  “You don’t have to.. I know it’s a pretty grim roadmap back there, my dude.  I don’t like it either.”

 

“Why not,” Kravitz furrows his brow, rubs his hand in a soothing circle over Taako’s hot skin.  “Your body is living and experiencing change _all the time_ in a way I.. well..  I never will.  Isn’t that extraordinary?”

 

Taako looks at him a moment.  “I love you, you know,” his voice guileless, the sound of it so convicted and genuine that it hurts in an indefinable way.

 

Kravitz searches his face, says, “I do.”

 

“Don’t ever use it against me,” Taako warns.

 

“I won’t,” and Kravitz hopes it sounds like the promise he meant it as.

  
  
  


Taako touches Kravitz’s face, leans in until their foreheads touch, and somewhere inside of himself, Kravitz feels a warmth reach out and take notice.

  
  


\----


End file.
